Renaissance
by Aussie73
Summary: After Daniel's ascension, a Marine becomes the fourth member of SG1. Jack's life will never be the same. Jack and Other. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:**

AU, commencing shortly before Anubis' attack on Earth (**Redemption Parts I and I**).

Jack's age is based on what he said in "Brief Candle" rather than the DOB given in "Fragile Balance".

Do not read if you are opposed to Jack with anyone other than Sam.

This was one of the very first Stargate stories I ever wrote, so please do not flame me for out-of-character representations.

Warning: Soap opera, pure and simple.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

A young Lieutenant paced nervously outside the office of the Stargate Project's commanding officer. The argument about her had been going on for several minutes, and they didn't even seem to care that she could hear every word they said.

In the three weeks since the death of their civilian archeologist/linguist, Daniel Jackson, SG-1 had already gone through three replacements. One had only lasted two hours. And now she – a mere Lieutenant – was being tipped to be the next one, although her skills were very different to those of Doctor Jackson's.

Although she was pleased at the opportunity of leaving SG-3, she wasn't sure she liked the loud-mouthed Colonel in charge of SG-1. She'd never met him before, but he seemed just like most of the Marines that comprised SG-3 – jarheads.

"Colonel; you have gone through three Air Force Captains in the space of three weeks. You have made voluble complaints about each one. Frankly, I'm running out of patience and you are running out of time. You will accept Lieutenant Ryan."

"She's a Marine, for cryin' out loud!" the Colonel protested. "We don't exactly get along."

"You will make every effort, Colonel," Major General George S. Hammond insisted, his Texas accent becoming thicker. "And she requested the transfer from SG-3." There was a pause then Hammond continued, his tone becoming softer. "Jack; you've read her dossier. You just think you're smart – she really is smart."

"A-ah!" came from the Colonel, but no further objection materialized.

"Lieutenant Ryan; please enter the office," Hammond called out.

She stepped into the commander's office, glad that she was wearing her off duty uniform. She had the feeling that nothing less than strictest military formality would be acceptable. "Lieutenant Sandra Ryan reporting for duty, General," she said, snapping a smart salute. She turned to the lanky form of Colonel Jack O'Neill, presently slouched into one of Hammond's chairs, his hair all on end as if he'd plowed his hands through it. "Pleased to meet you, Colonel," she lied politely.

He grunted, then unraveled his form and got to his feet. Although, at only five feet tall, everyone on the base was taller than her – even Doctor Fraiser boasted two more inches – she was completely unprepared for the sheer impact of the Colonel's presence. Even merely standing, he exuded energy and vitality. "And you, Lieutenant," he also lied. "You have a very impressive record for someone your age," he continued. "I assure you; you'll need it if you want to stay on this team."

Sandra's jaw stiffened. She didn't need this crap. She'd been yanked into work on her first day off in weeks, instead of spending the day with a pint of ice cream and pearls of wisdom from Homer Simpson as she'd originally planned, and now this … this overgrown Yankee fly-boy was trying to talk down to her. "And I assure you, Colonel, you won't regret my presence," she said frostily. "I may not have cojones, but I can kick butt with the best of them."

Just to the left of her field of vision, something weird seemed to be going on with Hammond's face – like he was trying to hide a laugh. Impossible. Wasn't it?

"Well, follow me, Lieutenant – it's time to meet the rest of the team," O'Neill said now.

She remained standing – Hammond was the superior officer, and he hadn't dismissed her yet. "Dismissed, Colonel, Lieutenant," he said now.

Sandra preceded O'Neill out of the office, and could've sworn she heard a very faint "D'oh!". Was he a Simpsons fan, too?

She entered the briefing room and examined the faces of her new colleagues; Major Samantha Carter and the Jaffa called Teal'c. Even seated, the enormous Jaffa seemed to dominate the small briefing room. There was also a blond-haired man only a couple years older than her – the Kelownan Jonas Quinn, who'd defected from his home planet shortly before Doctor Jackson's death.

She regretted Doctor Jackson's death. She'd talked to him a few times in the commissary, and found him to be an intelligent cultured man, with a toughness that wasn't immediately apparent behind his archeology-geek exterior. She knew that the Kelownans had been experimenting with naquadria, an unstable derivation of naqahdah, and that a lethal dose of radiation had taken Doctor Jackson's life. Therefore, she regarded the blond man with suspicion. "I thought this briefing was for members of SG-1 only, Colonel?" she inquired silkily.

O'Neill had stiffened upon seeing Jonas then a grim smile played across his features. It appeared he didn't trust the Kelownan any more than Sandra did. "Precisely, Lieutenant," he said. "Mister Quinn; you have no place here."

The young blond man opened his mouth as if to protest, then caught Teal'c's eye. He got up. "In that case, Colonel, I'll leave," he replied.

After the Kelownan had departed, O'Neill dropped his lanky body into a chair and indicated that Sandra too should take a seat. She did so near the coffee – she was still half asleep, and was hoping desperately for a caffeine hit – and tucked her chair under the table. "Right, kids," he said casually, "this is lucky number four – Lieutenant Sandra Ryan. She's transferred to us from SG-3."

Major Carter smiled at her, and Teal'c dipped his head in greeting. Despite his silence and overwhelmingly massive presence, she didn't sense that he was unfriendly – just self-contained. "It's nice to meet you, Lieutenant," Carter said. "How long have you been with the Marines?"

"I graduated four years ago," Sandra said, "and served on the _USS Farragut _as a ground pounder until last year, when I was transferred to Stargate Command and onto SG-3."

"Jarhead," O'Neill muttered.

Sandra raised an eyebrow. "Maybe so," she said, "and aren't you lucky you've got one of us to watch your lovely backsides for you?"

Teal'c raised an eyebrow and nodded at Major Carter, who appeared to be fighting a grin. Sandra had yet to learn that this team had had so much success simply because they weren't a strictly military unit. A cynic who'd made an art-form out of insubordination, an astrophysicist, a civilian linguist/archeologist and a Jaffa – not exactly a dream team, yet they'd more than made it work. And Sandra was merely an upstart interloper in their eyes.

O'Neill's eyes widened, then a grin quirked the corner of his mouth. "Maybe, Lieutenant," he said. "A five foot tall fighting machine," he added wryly. "You could stand right in front of me, and my head would still be blown off."

"Maybe," she shot back, "but it's not like you're using it, anyway." Immediately the words were out of her mouth, she knew she'd said the wrong thing. She'd been in trouble many times during her Academy days for her big mouth, and it seemed like she was falling into that old pattern.

The expression on Carter's face was priceless, and Teal'c seemed to be fighting to control a very un-Jaffa burst of laughter.

O'Neill sighed heavily. "Touché, Lieutenant," he acknowledged. "How about a deal? I stop making fun of your lack of height, and you stop being a jarhead. That's the last thing we need on this team. We don't travel the galaxy simply to kick ass."

"But when we do, O'Neill, we are extremely good at it," Teal'c stated ponderously. Sandra looked at him, but his face didn't move a muscle. Either he was kidding … or else he was deadly serious.

Dismissing the question, she leaned over and grabbed the thermos and a cup, pouring herself a cup of the thick black brew. Force coffee was always foul, but she'd gotten used to it over the last six years, and she doubted her body would be able to handle a decent batch anymore. She sipped it cautiously and raised an eyebrow. Definitely not as bad as the swill she'd become accustomed to drinking – being in the premier SG team evidently had its privileges.

The door opened and General Hammond came in. It was the first time she'd seen him in shirt sleeves and she had to admit, the look suited him. It made him look less consciously authoritarian, but no less intimidating. It was said his bullshit detector was legendary, and she hoped to never find out for herself.

O'Neill, Carter and Sandra scrambled to their feet at attention, while Teal'c remained seated, but dipped his head in respect.

"At ease, people," Hammond said and sat down. His team followed suit several seconds later. "Your next mission is to planet P4X 621, also known as Rhiel."

"Rhiel …," Carter murmured. "I think Jolinar knew that planet."

"We've received a message from Jacob," Hammond continued, serenely ignoring the odd interruption. Something told Sandra he was used to this. "Their generators are breaking down, and they need help. They can't risk sending word to the other Tok'ra in fear that the System Lords will track them down.

_Jacob? Odd name for a Tok'ra_, Sandra mused, but continued listening.

"Whilst at 621, I want you and SG-3 to carry out a mineral survey – determine if this world would be suitable as a secondary site for Stargate Command."

"A-ah!" O'Neill's objection withered under the baleful glare of his commanding officer.

"Save it, Colonel," Hammond said. "Your team has the most experience of interacting with the Tok'ra, and between Major Carter and Lieutenant Ryan, you have the best engineers of all the SG teams."

"Mmm, mineral survey. My favorite," O'Neill muttered disgustedly.

Hammond smiled slightly. "I know it seems like a milk run, Colonel, but we need to keep the alliance with the Tok'ra intact. We help them, they help us – it's a fair trade."

"Maybe it would be if they ever helped us," O'Neill commented. "We seem to spend half our time saving their asses. What exactly do we get out of this alliance?"

"Colonel …," Sam Carter said, sounding dismayed.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, Carter – I love Jacob, I think he's great, but the other Tok'ra are just one giant pain in the neck. Literally."

"Be that as it may, Colonel," Hammond said, his voice like steel, "you have your orders and will depart at oh eight hundred hours tomorrow." He looked around at his top team. "That's all for now. Dismissed."

They got up and filed out of the room. "Not you, Jack," he added.

* * *

Jack O'Neill reached the doorway when his commanding officer's voice stopped him. "Not you, Jack," he said.

_Nuts. So close!_ He turned back and headed toward Hammond. "Yes, sir?" he inquired.

"I'd prefer you not to be … so much yourself in front of the Lieutenant," Hammond said. "We must at least appear united or we will fail. I know you don't trust the Tok'ra …"

_Understatement of the century_, Jack reflected morosely.

"… but we need as many allies as possible if we ever hope to keep the Goa'uld away from Earth. So, you will go to 621 and make nice with the Tok'ra. Is that understood?"

Jack glowered. The best thing to do when Major General George S. Hammond got into one of these moods was to humor him. "Yes, sir," he said.

"Good. Now get the hell out of here," Hammond added. "Go take the night off. You haven't rested in weeks."

_Yeah, cos when I rest, I think_, Jack mused, but he couldn't disobey a direct order. "Yes, sir," he replied, and got out of the office as quickly as he could before he said something stupid.

He could've sworn he heard a faint chuckle come from Hammond's office as he left, but then dismissed it. Hammond was a good guy, and he liked serving under him, but his tolerance for insubordination was very low.

* * *

Several hours had passed, and Sandra had retreated to her room on Level 37. As a First Lieutenant now, she had the privilege of private quarters, and appreciated the difference. She flicked on the television, hoping to catch the last of the Simpsons marathon, but got to the channel just in time for the closing credits. "D'oh!" She hit the heel of her hand against her forehead in annoyance.

A knock on the door interrupted her musings and she switched the set off. "Yeah?" she said.

"Lieutenant; it's Major Carter," came the soft voice of the woman after whom she'd modeled herself and her career. Toughness and femininity all in one slim blonde package. She couldn't say she'd achieved it yet – she simply wasn't as beautiful as Sam Carter – but she worked on it. "Would you like to join us for supper? We're going to O'Malley's steakhouse in town."

_We_ meaning Colonel O'Neill, no doubt. She'd had enough of the loud-mouthed fool's cheery company during the briefing a couple hours earlier, and had drawn heavily on her hard-won control to avoid doing anything that would land her in the stockade. The Colonel and she were just nitro and glycerin. "Uh, I'm not hungry, but thank you, Major," she said.

The door opened, and O'Neill stood there in khakis and a leather jacket. So that was Colonel O'Neill at leisure. It was a good look for him. "Oh, come on, Lieutenant," he said. "You've got a bad temper and I've got a big mouth. How about a truce?" He came forward and offered a long-boned, surprisingly elegant hand.

"Truce," she agreed, fighting back her instinctive reaction. Hands terrified her. Her clearest memories were of hands hurting her, brutalizing her. But hand-shaking was a necessary part of life. She put out her own hand, heart pounding, and watched as it was swallowed whole.

"Good," he said. "Now, how about some steak?"

She got up, fighting the warmth that had gone through her at O'Neill's touch, and grabbed a jacket, glad that she'd changed into civvies. "Lead the way, Colonel," she quipped.

* * *

Colonel Jack O'Neill, USAF, looked down at the half pint fighting machine walking along slightly ahead of him and grimaced. A jarhead, for cryin' out loud! What was Hammond thinking? But she was now a member of SG-1, although not yet a member of the team. Not like Daniel had been.

He thought back to when he'd first met Doctor Daniel Jackson. He, Ferretti and Kawalsky hadn't exactly been thrilled to share a mission with a long-haired four-eyed geek who sneezed all the time, but Daniel had shown a surprising reservoir of toughness, culminating in his decision to stay with Sha're on Abydos.

After Sha're's forced blending with the Goa'uld Amaunet, Doctor Jackson had joined the SG-1 team with Teal'c, former First Prime to Apophis, and they'd become a team, with Doctor Captain Samantha Carter. And, although Jack and Daniel were entirely capable of driving each other up the wall within two seconds, Daniel had become one of his closest friends.

Damn. Okay; he missed him. For a week after his 'death'/ascension, they'd been absorbed in the mission to rescue the Asgard Heimdall and Thor from the Goa'uld, and since then they'd been trying to break in a new fourth. But now things had quieted down, Jack O'Neill had the luxury of time. Which meant he had time to think.

"Colonel?" Lieutenant Ryan was looking at him quizzically and he blinked down at her. So young. She practically still had the soft spot on the top of her head. When he'd been her age, he'd been a mere Airman, only two years out of the Academy. How she'd graduated two years early was beyond him, but then again, she was a lot smarter than him.

She also had enough reprimands on her record to choke a horse, but he didn't mind. He liked a little attitude in his team-mates.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" he said then realized that they were all standing in the elevator, waiting for him to also step in.

"O'Neill," Teal'c stated calmly. "We are waiting."

"Ah, right," Jack said. He stepped into the elevator, nodding at two jarheads from Ryan's old unit. "Watson, Kirkland."

"Sir," they said. They nodded to Ryan. "Hey, Ryan," Kirkland said. "How's it going with these fly-boys?" Although O'Neill was technically their superior officer, he was Air Force and they were Marine Corps; a strong distinction that let them get away with this attitude.

She grinned and stepped in. "Not bad, so far," she said.

Watson let out a whistle. "You clean up real good, Ryan," he said. "Who'd have thought?"

"Not you, that's for certain," Ryan shot back. "Besides, aren't you married?"

"Married, not blind," Watson said cheerfully.

Jack pushed up his Ray-Bans to peruse the young woman. Neat, petite yet curvy with soft gray eyes and long reddish-blonde hair tied back in a neat plait, he could see why Watson and Kirkland were impressed. Twenty years ago, he might have gone after her himself.

* * *

They reached O'Malley's and settled down in a booth; Teal'c and O'Neill on one side, and Carter and Sandra on the other. The waitress came along with two beers and an orange juice – it was evident to Sandra that her companions were regulars here. "Hey, O'Neill," the waitress said, tossing the Colonel a grin. "I hope you're not here to beat the crap out of people again."

O'Neill returned the grin. "Depends, Maria," he said. He looked over at Sandra. "What're you drinking, Sandie?" he asked.

She stiffened at the hated nickname then decided that the team was traveling incognito. Although how they managed that with a very large and conspicuous Jaffa was anyone's guess. And subtlety didn't exactly seem to be part of O'Neill's repertoire. "Uh; a diet soda, please," she said. After the waitress had gone, she leaned over to him. "Please don't call me Sandie, Colonel, or you'll see one very pissed off jarhead. I hate that nickname."

He blinked then grinned. "Understood, Lieutenant," he said. "What can we call you?"

"How about Sandra?" she said, wishing she could wipe that infuriating smirk off of his face.

"Sandra Ryan …," he said. Then his intelligent chocolate eyes widened. "Wait a sec – you're not General Ryan's grand-daughter, are you?"

She stared at him in shock. Since making her application to the Academy, she'd kept her relationship to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff a deep secret – after all, she'd seen nothing of her father, Jack Ryan's son, since she was ten. And she'd wanted to get in on her own merits.

"Yeah," she said reluctantly, as Sam Carter's eyes widened. Teal'c remained unmoved – as an alien, it was likely he didn't know who General Jack Ryan was. "But I've not seen him since I was a kid."

O'Neill shook his head. "Well, that explains your rapid rise through the ranks," he said.

She bounced to her feet. "With no due respect, Colonel," she said icily, "go screw yourself. I think if you check my dossier, you'll find no mention of my heritage. And besides, d'you really think ol' Bullet-Head Ryan would use his influence for the sake of a grand-daughter he hasn't seen in fourteen years?"

She shoved the chair back and glared at her commanding officer. "I'm withdrawing my application for transfer," she added. "I'd rather go back to ground pounding than serve with a commander who has so little respect for a member of his team."

He shoved back his own chair and headed after her. "Ryan; wait a minute," he said. His hand shot out and captured her wrist.

She stared down at it like it was a Goa'uld. "Release my wrist," she said coldly.

He did so, then pushed his hand through his hair – evidently, he favored the electrocuted porcupine look. "Look, Ryan; I'm sorry," he said. He sighed, and it seemed as if his next words were wrenched out against his will. "I guess … I haven't been willing to accept you. I'm not ready to admit Daniel's gone, and I don't want to replace him."

She softened at the reluctant confession, and noted how much younger he looked in this sheepish and apologetic look. It was true – guys never really grew up. "It's okay, Colonel," she said. "And I'm not trying to replace Doctor Jackson. Nobody could. I'm fairly smart, but he was scary smart. Besides, I trained in engineering, not archeology or languages."

"Then … do me a favor – don't withdraw your application just yet?" he said. "Come to P4X 621 and meet the Tok'ra. Then, after that mission, if you want to transfer back to SG-3, I'll make sure it goes through."

She regarded him thoughtfully then nodded her head. "Okay," she said. "You got a deal."

* * *

After the meal finished, Jack O'Neill patted his satisfied stomach and looked over at the pool table with a barely-contained sigh. Since her one display of virtuosity under the influence of the alien arm-bands two years ago, Sam Carter had never played again, claiming she had no idea how to. And Teal'c had refused to learn, stating that it was a child's game.

He looked hopefully at the child-woman sitting next to Carter. She'd only been able to finish half the ten-ounce steak she'd ordered, but Teal'c had been more than happy to help her out. "Hey, Sandie …" – she eyed him with dire warning in her eyes. "Yeah. I called you Sandie. I don't suppose you play pool."

"I do, but you don't want to go up against me, fly-boy," she warned. Over the last hour and a half, relations between he and Ryan had improved considerably, and she was showing every sign of fitting in with the team.

"Oh, I think I do, jarhead," he said. The nicknames that were usually derogatory between the Marines and the Air Force had almost become terms of endearment.

"It's your funeral," she said. "But what say we make it interesting?"

* * *

The gleam of mischief that lit up O'Neill's eyes no doubt reflected the gleam in her own eyes, and Sandra realized suddenly why the Colonel had such a tolerance for her often bad attitude. "How interesting?" he asked, the grin becoming that of a predator.

"Lieutenant Ryan; I do not believe that you are making a wise decision," Teal'c said calmly. Although he looked to be only in his 30s, Sandra knew he was actually over 100 – thanks to the larval Goa'uld that lived within him and supplemented his immune system. Maybe those extra years had given him the wisdom that made him regard unaltered humans as little more than children.

"What's life if you don't take a risk every now and then?" she replied, smiling at the colossus.

He raised an eyebrow – colloquial Jaffa for _if you must be foolish then I cannot stop you_, perhaps – then tilted his head.

Sam Carter added her two cents' worth. "I should warn you; the Colonel's quite the pool shark."

"Maybe so, but think of me as a piranha." Sandra grinned at her, exposing her teeth. "Small and mean." She stuck her hand out to grasp the Colonel's warm one. "Bring it on," she added.

* * *

Ryan put the kiss of English onto her bank shot, and the black ball caromed off three sides of the table before coming home to roost in the top left corner pocket – just like she'd bet. "Pay up, Colonel," she said cheerfully.

"D'oh!" Jack muttered, then dug in his pocket and slapped a fifty down onto the edge of the pool table. "Where'd you learn to play pool like that?"

She smiled at him over her cue. "It's simple physics, Colonel," she said "You see, the parabola of the …"

"A-ah!" She looked exactly like Carter or Daniel looked just before they went off on one. "Kid; if you're going to geek out, take it outside. You're offsetting our overwhelming coolness."

Her eyebrow shot up in a disturbing parallel of Teal'c's manner. "Geek out?" she repeated, grabbing the fifty and stuffing it in her pocket. "Just for that, fly-boy, you can buy me a drink."

"I like your accent," he said.

She nodded as if she was used to hearing that. "I get that a lot from Northerners," she said. "I grew up in Louisiana." She smiled slightly at him. "But you're still buying me a drink."

"Beer okay?" he said.

She got a look on her face of … something. He honestly didn't know if she was one of those stick-up-her-butt officers who didn't approve of drinking – maybe this was a good time to find out. "Don't approve, Lieutenant?" he asked silkily.

"I don't care," she said, "what other people do. I just choose not to drink. Orange juice will do fine, thanks."

"Hey, looky here; if it ain't Mister Tough Guy!" someone big said. Turning, Jack saw a huge guy with no discernible neck peering at him. The guy looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place him. "Where's your geek friend, Tough Guy?" the one-man junta continued.

Now Jack knew where he'd seen the big lug before. A couple years ago he, Daniel and Carter had agreed to participate in a Tok'ra experiment that had increased their speed, strength and natural abilities ten-fold. They'd slipped out to this restaurant whilst under 24-hour guard, and had gotten into a fight with Sergeant No-Neck and his Missing Links Club Band. The band had not come out well, and it seemed they were now looking to even the score.

"Oh, crap," Colonel Jack O'Neill, USAF, muttered.

* * *

Sandra had only taken two steps away when a bunch of goons launched themselves at O'Neill and Carter. "Rumble!!" she hollered and launched herself into the fray. She might only be little but she was a Marine – they were the best. And three years as a ground pounder had given her a love of brawls that just wouldn't quit.

Several seconds later, the gigantic Teal'c waded in and rapidly dispatched two of the goons. He did it all without any of the passion Sandra felt – he might be of human stock, but he wasn't from Earth. She realized that was an important distinction.

"Hah!" one of the uni-brows yelled, punching her in the stomach.

"Hah!" she shouted in return, although it hurt like hell, and took out the no-neck with a sharp blow to the nose that snapped his head backward. Sandra shook her head then swung round just in time to miss the chair that had been aimed at her. She let loose with a left hook, and was surprised when the biggest goon dropped like a stone. _Glass jaw_, she mused flexing her hand, sure at least one of the fingers was broken. _Bone on bone is just stupid. You'd think I'd have learned by now._

"Lieutenant Ryan!" Teal'c called, stepping in front of one of the gorillas and bodily lifting her out of harm's way as the gorilla's fist flew just past her face. Still tucked under his massive arm, she watched as he dispatched the rest of the Neanderthals single-handedly – literally.

She wriggled in his grasp. "Uh, Teal'c, you can let me go now," she said, aware of Carter's barely-contained amusement and O'Neill's delighted grin. It was a nice smile, but she'd rather it wasn't at her expense.

"Of course, Lieutenant Ryan," the behemoth said, depositing her with surprising gentleness onto her feet. He lifted his head as the sound of sirens made themselves known. "I believe it is time that we left, O'Neill," he said, with what Sandra would learn was characteristic understatement.

The Colonel grinned again. "I believe you're right," he said. He turned to Sandra and dropped an arm around her and Carter's shoulders. "Let's go, Ryan," he added.

Normally, she didn't like personal contact like this – it made her feel threatened – but, for some reason, the last few minutes had made O'Neill and she allies, maybe even team-mates. The further thought occurred that maybe they could become friends. Something felt very … right about what was happening.

She paused, her head cocked slightly to one side as she regarded the Colonel. Despite the gray hair, which was likely premature, he was an attractive confident man who touched something inside of her she didn't want to be touched. She was too old to have a crush on someone, but she was terribly afraid she might be attracted to him. Maybe it'd be easier for everyone if she went back to SG-3, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Although Sandra had served with SG-3 for over a year, she'd never gotten over her awe at the sight of the Stargate cranking into action. The symbols on its outer face moved as it dialed and locked into place, then a whoosh signaled the formation of the event horizon of the wormhole that could transport living beings to hundreds of worlds all over the galaxy – in this case, P4X 621.

"SG-1; you have a go," General Hammond announced.

Clad in desert BDUs – they'd learned 621 was a planet with two suns – Teal'c and O'Neill made their way up the ramp, followed closely by Major Carter and Sandra. She stepped out of the wormhole, and looked around 621, or Rhiel.

"It's … quaint," O'Neill commented.

"Toilet," Sandra corrected.

O'Neill grinned at her then slid his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose. "Kids; get your sunglasses on; the suns are coming up."

As Sandra did so, she could see several figures approaching them. "Colonel?" she said. "We have company."

"Friend or foe, Carter?" he snapped.

"Friend, sir; it's the Tok'ra," she said, heading for the middle-aged male who lead the group of newcomers. Sandra had heard of the Tok'ra, how they were a dissident faction of the Goa'uld, but had never met any before.

"Hey, Sam!" one of the Tok'ra said, enveloping her in a bone-crushing hug. Sandra didn't know why, but this Tok'ra looked familiar to her.

"Jacob," O'Neill said casually, but his tone displayed a deep affection and friendship for one of these beings for whom he had professed such disdain.

"Jack," the Tok'ra replied, sounding just like a regular human. Like other Goa'uld, they spoke with a weird inflection, but unlike the Goa'uld, they could shake off the parasite's influence. They claimed that they had a truly symbiotic relationship, but Sandra wasn't about to find out up close and personal.

The Tok'ra dipped his head to Teal'c. "Teal'c," he said. Then he nodded to Sandra. "Jack; aren't you going to introduce me to your new team-mate?"

"Oh, right," O'Neill said. "This is Lieutenant Sandra Ryan. Lieutenant, meet Jacob Carter."

Sandra clicked her fingers as the light flicked on. Whilst she was still at the Academy, Major General Jacob Carter, USAF, had given them a series of lectures. Although that was five years ago, he hardly seemed to have aged since then. In fact, in some ways, he looked healthier than before. "Pleased to meet you, sir," she said automatically.

He raised his eyebrows. "Sir?" He grinned at O'Neill. "She's definitely new to your team, Jack. None of you call me 'sir'."

"I was at the Academy while you were still in the Air Force, Major General," Sandra said. "Why on Earth would you want to leave that and have a snake stuck in your nervous system?"

"That's a long story, Lieutenant," Jacob said mildly and tucked his hand through Major Carter's arm. _Of course_. Another light went on for Sandra. Father and daughter. No wonder she'd been ready to explode at O'Neill's attitude during the mission briefing. "If you'll come with me, we'll ring down to the caverns. An old … friend's eager to see you again, Jack," he added with a hint of mischief.

* * *

Sandra shook her head as SG-1 and their Tok'ra escort stepped off the transport pad and the rings zipped back up into the ground above them. "Cool," she muttered. "Beam me down, Scotty."

They stood there as what seemed like hundreds of Tok'ra milled around, then a tall elegant woman stepped out of the crowd and headed straight up to them. "Colonel O'Neill," she said in the throaty voice of a Goa'uld, kissing him on both cheeks.

He dipped his head, although Sandra could tell he was startled. "It's … good to see you again, Grand Counsel Garshaw," he said.

She smiled slightlythen closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she spoke in a higher, more pleasantly pitched voice. "Greetings also from Yosuf," she said in the new voice. "We are pleased you have agreed to help us. Selmak" – she turned to Jacob Carter – "perhaps you could show Samantha the generator."

"This is Lieutenant Ryan; an engineer," O'Neill said now. "She'll help Major Carter with any repairs."

The Tok'ra female closed her eyes once more then spoke again; the Goa'uld now in control. "But of course," she said. "We are grateful for your assistance, Lieutenant."

"You're welcome," Sandra mumbled, unnerved by the abrupt transition between host and Goa'uld. She hitched her tool kit more firmly onto her shoulder then followed the two Carters down one of the long meandering tunnels.

* * *

"I am sorry for your loss, Colonel," Garshaw of Belote said now. "Doctor Jackson was a learned man and a fine ally. We are the poorer for his absence."

At her sincere words, the hard angry lump in Jack's throat – the one he'd carried ever since Daniel's death – seemed to decrease. It was true; the galaxy was less without Daniel in it. "Thank you," he said. "And we're sorry for what happened with Martouf; but it was necessary."

"It was," she said. "As a Zatarc, he knew that he could not be permitted to live." She smiled slightly. "Lantash survived a while longer then died in one of your soldiers fighting the Goa'uld. It was the best end that we could hope for."

"I guess so," Jack agreed – there was no clever way to answer that statement. "Uh, I think I'll go see what Carter and Ryan are up to."

"Of course." Garshaw dipped her head graciously. "But you and your team will do me the pleasure of joining us for supper."

Despite the tone, it was an invitation not an order, and Jack smiled slightly. Garshaw's host, Yosuf, was much more timid than the symbiote, and that timidity had evidently won through. "I'd like that," he said.

Jack tugged at the brim of his cap – Garshaw's regal presence seemed to inspire that sort of behavior – then slouched off to find what he'd come to regard fondly as the 'geek patrol'. Although they could both kick butt with the best of them, get them started on some scientific principle and nothing short of a Goa'uld mothership could stop them. Take last night. After they'd returned from O'Malley's and had dressed their wounds, Ryan had asked Carter a question about subspace physics and how the wormhole really worked.

Carter – perhaps sensing a kindred spirit – had launched into a technical explanation that had rapidly left Jack behind. When he returned several hours later, they were still at it. He'd shrugged and sloped off to find Teal'c; see if he could persuade the big guy into a late-night boxing match. He'd been unsuccessful.

He set his jaw and approached Ryan, who was flat on her back and wedged under some piece of machinery. "Hey, Ryan; how's it going?" he asked.

"It's fried," came in muffled tones from Ryan. "A massive EM pulse knocked it out. It needs to be replaced. And we don't exactly stock Tok'ra spec parts in Logistics." With a grunt that sounded suspiciously like "D'oh!" and some muffled swearing, she wriggled her way out of the machinery, then paused as her tank top became caught in one of the workings and rode up her rib cage. "Damn!"

"Uh, Ryan; don't wriggle any further unless you particularly want to give me a peepshow," Jack warned, chewing hard on the inside of his cheek in order not to betray the laugh building up inside of him. For crying out loud; she was a colleague. She deserved their respect.

"Not bloody likely," the young woman drawled, her Louisiana accent becoming thicker. He'd noticed it did that when she was experiencing strong emotions.

He knelt down next to her and worked to tug the tank top free of the machinery. As he did so, his gaze was drawn to a number of odd puckers on the surface of her slightly rounded belly. Those were cigarette burns – as a former smoker, he had one on his left hand, and knew them for what they were. But how did she get cigarette burns on her stomach? "D'oh!" he grunted as the fabric gave with a little rip. "Sorry, Ryan, but at least you can come out now," he said. "You're decent.

"Cool," Ryan said, sounding somewhat breathless, completing her wiggling movements out of the machinery.

* * *

O'Neill automatically offered Sandra a hand as she rolled to her knees, and she flinched, hating herself for the knee-jerk reaction. When she'd been trapped under the Tok'ra machinery, he'd had the perfect opportunity to take advantage of her vulnerability, yet he hadn't. She put her hand in his, uncertain why she so liked touching him, and allowed him to draw her to her feet.

"Thanks, Colonel," she said, realizing that this was a man who'd never need to force an unwilling woman. He could have had more than his fair share of women, but according to Carter had only had one serious relationship since his divorce more than six years ago – a woman named Laira on Edora.

"You're welcome," he said, letting go of her hand. "Any idea where the two Carters are?"

"Looking for any equipment they can cannibalize, sir," Sandra responded. "This is pretty much buggered."

O'Neill grinned, flashing white teeth and great dimples. "You have an … interesting vocabulary, Lieutenant," he commented.

"My mother was born in England – she never really lost the accent or the slang, even after she married my father and moved to Louisiana," Sandra said.

She headed over to one of the other mysterious pieces of Tok'ra machinery. "Well, seeing as you're here," she added, dropping flat and wiggling inside the machinery," you can play nurse and hand me my tools."

O'Neill raised his eyebrows with a delighted grin and picked up her tool kit. "Okay," he said. "By the way, Ryan, we're having supper with Grand Counsel Garshaw tonight. Dig out your Class A's, kid."

"Yes, sir!" Sandra said, flinching as one of the exposed crystals flashed at her. "Whoa, trippy," she muttered, watching the pretty light show. "But, I have to warn you; you saw my 'best' clothes last night. I'm not the girly type."

"You don't say," O'Neill shot back. "Still, you can at least get the grime out from under your nails."

Sandra stuck her tongue out at him, but seeing as she was wedged under a large piece of Tok'ra machinery, it didn't have much effect on the irrepressible Colonel. Her relationship with this CO was much more comfortable than with Colonel Lightfoot in SG-3. He was a particularly humorless guy who seemed to think he was still a drill sergeant. O'Neill, by contrast, was funny, happy-go-lucky and pretty cool.

* * *

Jack slouched against the machinery, occasionally handing Ryan tools as she called out for them. _Playing nurse_, as she'd called it. She was a good kid and a hard worker. It looked like maybe his snide comment about 'lucky number four' at the briefing was actually coming true. And after delving further into her file, it was probably a good thing she'd requested a transfer from SG-3. Lightfoot was a good man, but he had no sense of humor, and no tolerance for Ryan's often irreverent and sarcastic comments that fell just this side of insubordination.

Jack had served under a guy like Lightfoot just before his promotion to Major, and that tour of duty had earned him most of the reprimands on his file. With time and patience, he knew that Sandra Ryan would make a fine officer.

"Ow! Damn it!" the mini Marine snapped as a piece of wiring fizzed.

If she lived long enough, that was, Jack added. "What happened?" he asked.

"Damn cable shorted out – right into my eye," the young woman said. "I can't see squat." Her feet scrabbled for purchase on the crystal formation of the Tok'ra tunnels and she wriggled out of the machinery. She got up, one hand covering the afflicted eye, and squinted up at Jack. "Is there anything in there?" she added, forcing the eye open.

He took her chin in his hand, and was surprised when she paled and stepped backward. "Quit wriggling, kid," he said. She stayed still, her nostrils flaring as he held her chin and peered into the afflicted eye. "Yeah; there's something in there," he added. "Come on, jarhead – it's time to see ol' Doc Fraiser."

"Nuts," Ryan muttered, brushing a knuckle across the tearing eye. "Okay, fly-boy – point me to the rings."

Sam and Jacob Carter entered the chamber. "Lieutenant; are you all right?" Sam asked.

"Yeah; peachy," the Lieutenant replied, winking furiously. "One of the cables shorted out. The Colonel wants me to go to the Infirmary."

Jacob Carter smiled slightly at her then spoke, his voice now containing that odd modulation characteristic of the Goa'uld. _Selmak, then_, Jack corrected. "You should listen to the Colonel, Lieutenant," he … she … it … said. "You would not wish to lose your sight due to an accident."

"You've convinced me," Ryan said. She dusted her hand across her face, evidently surprised at how much such a minor injury could hurt.

* * *

Sandra stayed very still as Doctor Fraiser probed at the wounded eye. She'd been given a local, but was still very aware of the q-tip going across the surface. "Ah, got it!" Fraiser announced. She then produced a tube of ointment and an eye patch. "You'll need to apply this every four hours for the next couple of days, and wear this patch."

Sandra took it, pulling a face. "Yo-ho-ho," she muttered glumly. O'Neill was going to have a field day with her.

"Now," the diminutive doctor insisted. "Or you'll stay here for the next two days."

Well, that was a no-brainer. Sandra pulled on the eye patch, her eye closing automatically as the view dimmed, and she looked around, amazed at how different everything seemed. "It looks … weird," she said.

"You'll have to be careful – your depth perception will be reduced somewhat," Fraiser added. "But you'll get used to it after a couple of hours."

Sandra slid off the bed. "Can I go back to work now, Doctor?" she asked.

"Yes, but take it easy, Lieutenant," Fraiser warned.

Sandra smiled as the bill of O'Neill's cap peeked around the open doorway. "You all fixed up, Ryan?" he asked, stepping into the Infirmary. His eyes widened. "Uh …," he began.

She fixed him with a glare. "Don't even go there," she commented.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Lieutenant," he replied innocently. "We'll stop by your quarters and grab your civviesthen head back for 621." He'd offered to accompany her back to Earth – even after a year on the Stargate program, that was such a trippy statement – as Carter was needed to continue the repairs to the Tok'ra equipment.

* * *

Jack stood outside the Lieutenant's quarters on Level 37, looking inside curiously. At first glance, they were just like any other of the quarters in the SGC – small and impersonal. Then he smiled at the large poster of Homer Simpson above the TV. "You're a Simpsons fan, too, Ryan?"

"But of course," she said, pushing a couple of items of clothing into a large bag, then tossing in soap, shampoo and a hairbrush. "By the way, I've got a bone to pick with you, fly-boy."

"Me?" Jack put on his best wounded-puppy look. "What did I do to you?"

The puppy look had no effect on her – he was no Daniel. "Yesterday's briefing made me miss the marathon," she complained.

"Well, aren't you lucky, then, that senior officers' quarters have VCRs?" Jack said. "I taped the whole thing."

"Dibs after you then," Ryan shot back with a grin, zipping up the bagthen slinging it over her shoulder. "Let's go."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack replied lightly, returning her grin. He'd never felt such instant simpatico with a team member – even his friendship with Charlie Kawalsky hadn't been this rapid – and he realized that they might just well have found 'lucky number four'.

* * *

Back at the Tok'ra base once more, Jack O'Neill was reduced to slouching against the wall, looking menacing. Of course, he couldn't beat Teal'c for passive terror inspiration, but six feet plus of an angry Colonel with a P90 was something that would stop a lot of people in their tracks.

Unfortunately, as he was surrounded only by his team and their allies, even the menacing act was wearing a bit thin. To put it bluntly, he was bored out of his gourd. He pulled at the Velcro covering his watchthen snapped it back in place. Several times.

"You appear bored, O'Neill." The big guy himself appeared almost out of thin air and raised an eyebrow.

"Yep," Jack admitted mournfully. "These milk run tech missions are all well and good, but where are some greasy-assed Goa'ulds when you need 'em?"

Correctly interpreting this as a rhetorical question, Teal'c did not respond. "I share your position, O'Neill," he said instead. "We are not scientists; we are warriors."

"Yeah," Jack agreed. "How're Drey'auc and Rya'c? You haven't mentioned anything about them recently."

"They are both doing well – Master Bra'tac continues to keep watch over them in my absence," Teal'c said. He never talked about it, but Jack knew it had to be hard on the Jaffa to spend so much time away from his family.

Teal'c lifted his eyebrow. "You do not appear to have had much difficulty in accepting Lieutenant Ryan's presence," he added a propos of nothing.

Jack would've gotten worked up, but he knew his friend was right. He'd been less than welcoming to Ryan's three predecessors – no matter how marvelous they were, they simply weren't Daniel. Trying to replace him was something for which Jack was not ready. But Ryan was very much her own person – a good engineer and a good soldier with a healthy dose of cheerful irreverence. "She's a good kid," he said now.

"From my point of view, she is a child," Teal'c said – at over one hundred years of age, that was probably true. "However, to any Tauri, she would appear to be fully grown." He peered down at Jack. "Yet you persist in viewing her as a child."

Jack shifted position and pulled off his cap. "She is a kid – still wet behind the ears."

"She has proven herself as a warrior for four Earth years – mere years should not define a person's soul," Teal'c said.

Jack grinned slightly, trying to disarm his friend. "Teal'c, old buddy – you're a good guy, and you kick ass with the best of 'em," he said. "But leave the poetry to the poets."

* * *

Sandra got up and stretched her legs to the accompaniment of stomach-churning cracks. She'd torn the cartilage in her left knee on her first mission with SG-3 – during a fire-fight with some sadistic little greasy-assed Goa'uld called Ba'al – and had been off the mission list for two months while it healed.

She patted the generator, which was now glowing gently with the newly installed crystals that Major Carter and Jacob … Selmak … whoever … had salvaged from a crashed Death Glider. "Just for the record," she said to Carter, "we rule."

"Nice job, Lieutenant," Carter responded. She looked at her watch, which had been re-tuned to reflect the diurnal cycle of this planet. "Better hurry it up – Garshaw's expecting us for supper in a few hours."

The last few hours spent with Jacob/Selmak had reduced her unease around this branch of the Goa'uld. But she was intimidated by Garshaw – the Tok'ra's name was practically a curse in certain Goa'uld circles – and the host was a tall and physically impressive woman. "Yes, Major," she said. "By the way, who's Jolinar? I've heard you mention that name a few times."

Sam Carter sighed. "During a rescue mission, I was joined against my will with a Goa'uld called Jolinar. I later learned that she was a member of the Tok'ra, but not until after she sacrificed herself to save me. She left me with her memories, and I still have a protein marker."

"But … I thought the Tok'ra didn't take hosts," Sandra said, backing up from Selmak. "They're always saying how theirs is a true symbiosis."

"And it is, Lieutenant," Selmak said now, with that weird glow in his eyes. "But Jolinar was on the run from the Ashrak – a Goa'uld assassin. She was desperate."

"If I hadn't been resisting her, I could have learned so much," the Major added with another sigh.

"Major; you can't be going off on the could'a, would'a, should'a routine," Sandra said. "You'll drive yourself nuts."

"Amen to that, Sam," Jacob said – _geez, pick a personality and stick to it, would ya?_, Sandra thought. At least Apophis and the other snake-heads only had the one personality – the host's was subsumed completely.

Carter shook her head and emerged from the funk she'd gotten herself into. She smiled at her father and Sandra. "You're right – both of you," she said. She indicated another piece of machinery. "Let's get back to work, shall we?" she added.

* * *

Sam Carter watched the newest team member as she worked rapidly at the machinery. Although Sam was a keen scientist and engineer, she didn't have the intuitive grasp that separated a good engineer from a truly gifted one.

Sandra Ryan was truly gifted – how she'd coped as a Marine for four years was beyond Sam's understanding. It was still regarded as the most 'male' of the armed forces, and for a girl as young and pretty as Ryan to have actually chosen that for a career spoke volumes for her character.

Even the Colonel seemed to be warming up to her, after the admittedly rocky start. Sam recalled that he'd been like that with her during their first few missions. He'd still been in a pretty dark place, although he'd hidden it with sarcasm and bad jokes, and had tended to keep people at a distance.

Sam Carter's feelings toward her commanding officer were … complicated. They'd admitted their feelings for each other more than two years ago during the Zatarc hunt, and had acknowledged that nothing could ever happen between them. Ignoring the fact that he was her CO, they were simply too different.

Besides, she was beginning to believe that she was jinxed when it came to men. First there had been her former fiancé, Jonas, who had developed a Messiah complex. He'd been killed when his former worshippers had turned against him and threw him into an unstable wormhole. Then there had been Ambassador Faxon – he'd sacrificed himself to prevent the Aschen from taking over Earth. Then the Tollan, Narim, who'd died during a Goa'uld attack on his home planet. And poor Martouf … captured by the Goa'uld and programmed as an assassin.

"Major; the transtator?"

There was an impatience in Ryan's tones that told Sam she'd been wool-gathering. "Oh. Of course," she said, dragging her thoughts back to the present. "You do good work, Lieutenant," she commented.

"I know," Ryan said matter of factly – there was no hint of self-satisfaction.

"Tell me, Ryan – what made you serve as a ground pounder? With your Academy scores, you could have gotten a good posting with the Corps of Engineers."

"And miss all this? Not in a million," Ryan said sarcastically, then laughed. "I can't regret my time as a Marine, Major – I learned a lot from them, and I'd like to think they learned something from me too. Besides, if I'd gone to the Corps, I'd never have gotten posted to the SGC. Being on SG-3 gave me the chance to do the two things I truly excel at – engineering and ass-whuppin'."

It was unusual to hear such single-mindedness in one so young – when Sam Carter had been 24, she'd been quite the party girl, frequently burning the candle at both ends. "So, what about guys, Sandra? Anyone special in your life?" she asked, handing the younger woman a bottle of water.

Ryan's shoulders tensed. "No," she said. "I've never believed that men are a necessary part of life. I can be friendly with them, but …". She shook her head and tugged the cap off the bottle. "I like my life the way it is," she finished flatly.

* * *

Sandra yawned as the afternoon drew on. She'd not had a chance to eat yet, and the pain-killers Doctor Fraiser had put her on were having a strong soporific effect on her.

"Are you all right, Lieutenant Ryan?"

The colossal Jaffa towered over her and she almost broke her jaw in the effort of hiding her yawn. "Yeah, peachy," she said. "I'm just tired."

"Then I suggest you take a break," the gigantic man said now, tilting his bald head toward her. None of the other Jaffa she'd met – okay, some she'd killed – had favored the chrome-dome look, and she was curious as to why he did. Somehow, though, she didn't think she was going to find out any time soon.

Another yawn escaped her. "Maybe you're right," she said. She grinned at him. "I don't think they'd be too impressed if I dozed off during the entrees."

"I share that belief, Lieutenant Ryan," Teal'c said.

With another grin – the Jaffa had no idea how much he cracked her up – she closed the panel on which she'd been working, then sat down against the cool crystal-like wall of the Tok'ra tunnels.

Within seconds, she was asleep.

* * *

Jack O'Neill – fresh from an argument with one of the more arrogant Tok'ra – stomped along the crystal tunnels to find Lieutenant Ryan, head slumped forward, fast asleep. Catnapping on duty? Where the hell did she think she was?

He stepped forward and put a hand on Sleeping Beauty's shoulder, intending to wake her – not with a kiss, but a push – when he found himself staring her zat in the face. "Hey!" he said, batting it away.

"Geez!!" she yelped, her face pale and her eyes huge. "Never sneak up on a ground pounder!" She got to her feet and holstered the Goa'uld weapon, her face now bright red.

Jack was about to apologizethen shook his head. "Why were you sleeping on duty?" he said instead.

"I woke up a couple minutes ago," Ryan said. "Who could sleep with you and Timan hollering at each other like that?"

Jack pulled off his cap with a reluctant grin. "Okay; I give," he said. "Whatcha doing?"

She peered at him suspiciously through her one good eye. "Do you really want to know, or are you only asking because you're bored?"

He pushed a hand through his hair in bafflement. "We haven't known each other long enough for you to know me so well," he said.

A curious shadow fell over her face and she smiled slightly. "I know," she said. "I don't mean to be impertinent or anything. There's just … I don't know …". She sighed and colored. "Never mind," she added lamely.

"Colonel O'Neill," one of the Tok'ra interrupted. "Grand Counsel Garshaw wishes to speak with you."

"Okay," Jack said, wondering what was on Ryan's mind. He'd never seen her so flustered. "See you at dinner, kid," he said offhandedly. "Be good, and don't do anything I wouldn't do."

A chuckle came from his nearest team member as she opened a panel. "You sure you want to give me that much latitude, Colonel?" she asked demurely.

"Pain in the ass," he grumbled affectionately, jamming his cap back on.

She beamed at him, causing him to catch his breath. "I do my best, sir," she said, tossing off a jaunty salute. "See you at dinner, Colonel," she added.

* * *

"That's what you're wearing?" Sam looked the younger woman up and down with an amused despair. "When the Colonel said Class A's he didn't mean it literally."

Lieutenant Ryan shrugged. "It's the only thing I've got that's good enough, Major," she said. "I've never been very glamorous."

Lips pursed, Sam surveyed her clueless young friend. Maybe she wasn't glamorous, but the potential was considerable. Sam had never subscribed to the notion that being in the military meant sacrificing one's femininity. "At least put some lipstick on," she said, "and I'll fix your hair differently."

Ryan twisted away. "I'm smart and presentable, Major – I can't pretend to be something I'm not," she said. Scowling at her reflection, she added, "I've had twenty four years with my funny face – I'm used to it."

For such a young and vibrant woman, she seemed to be a mass of insecurities, Sam reflected. She'd served with Max Ryan during the Gulf War and thought that the two couldn't be any more different. Whilst an easy-going sociable guy, Max Ryan was heartily insensitive to other people's feelings. How many times, Sam wondered, had he bruised his sensitive young daughter's feelings before she'd simply withdrawn?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Jack was irritated. It wasn't like Carter to keep him waiting, and where the hell was Ryan?

He saw a flash of blonde hair that signified his second's presencethen noticed the smaller woman. Ryan was wearing Marine Corps Class A's – who knew she'd take him seriously? – and the pig inside him and all men commented that she had great legs before the military man took control once more.

"Lieutenant Ryan does indeed 'clean up well', O'Neill," Teal'c murmured now.

"You weren't reading my mind, were you, T?" Jack and the Jaffa had become as close as brothers, and Teal'c's century-plus of life gave him an often uncanny insight.

"Jaffa possess no extra-sensory abilities," Teal'c denied. "However, I am able to appreciate beauty."

Concerned now, Jack regarded his friend. The Jaffa had only had one relationship during the separation from his wife. That had been nearly two years ago, and had ended tragically. "D'you like her, Teal'c?"

"Of course," Teal'c said. "She is a fine warrior and a clever woman."

Five years and the big guy still couldn't deal with idiom, Jack reflected.

"I do not like her in the way that you mean, however," the Jaffa continued, throwing Jack's theory all to hell. "She is very young, and she is afraid of men."

"Huh?" Jack sat up from his slouch. "She's a Marine, T!" he protested. "She's spent the last four years surrounded by guys."

Looking like a young – gigantic – Buddha, Teal'c dipped his head. "She hides it well, and it does not interfere with her work. Nonetheless, the fear is there."

Jack considered that theory … was about to reject it. Then he remembered when she'd hurt her eye and her panicked reaction to his taking hold of her chin. Yet behind that panic had been … resignation. Like she'd been expecting a batting. His Special Forces trained mind also recalled the curious scars on her stomach then came up with a number of theories for her fear. None of them were pleasant.

"Evening, sir," she said now, sitting down next to him. "Class A's, as per your orders."

"Uh, Ryan – I was only kidding about the dress uniform," he said.

"Well, I think I look pretty good," she replied. "Hi, Teal'c," she added to the Jaffa, who had chosen to wear Earth-style civvies.

"Lieutenant Ryan," he said with a raised eyebrow.

"Good evening, my fellow Tok'ra and friends from the Tauri." Garshaw of Belote entered the dining … chamber? … and everyone stood up. A blush appeared on the host's pale cheeks and she smiled. "Please … sit down," Yosuf's soft voice added.

Chairs scraped as everyone sat, Garshaw choosing to sit next to Ryan, who was evidently surprised. "How does your work progress, Lieutenant Ryan?" Garshaw asked.

Ryan grinned. "Pretty well, considering I've got no experience with Tok'ra machinery. There are some similarities to Goa'uld tech as you'd expect, but …"

"We are not Goa'uld!" Garshaw said angrily.

Jack held his breath, remembering how insistent the Tok'ra were about this distinction.

Ryan grinned again. "Chill," she said. "Of course you're not. You're as much Goa'uld as I am … a cat."

Garshaw looked at her consideringly. "A … cat?" Yosuf inquired.

"Oh. I guess you don't have them here," Ryan said.

* * *

"And I said to him; Sergeant, if I ever see that cat anywhere near me again, I'll put you both on report!"

Yosuf and Sandra laughed together – for over an hour now, she and Sandra had been chatting, with no intrusion from Garshaw. It was amazing how well they seemed to get along.

After the formal dinner had ended, Yosuf had agreed to show her around the complex. They'd walked around, trading stories for over half an hour, then she'd asked Sandra to tell her more about cats.

"We do not have cats on Erildecia," she said – that was her home planet. "We have chalnor."

"Chalnor?"

Yosuf nodded her head. "Chalnor!!" she confirmed. "I think such creatures are the universe's attempt to ensure we never take ourselves too seriously."

Sandra laughed, not at the idea, but at the image. Cats did have a knack for making even the most dignified person look ridiculous.

"Tell me, Lieutenant …"

"Sandra," Sandra interrupted.

"Sandra; did you know Doctor Jackson well?"

"Not very," Sandra said. "We talked a few times in the commissary, but I don't believe many knew him well.

Yosuf nodded her head, a tear forming at the corner of her eye. "Sandra; although I share a true symbiosis with Garshaw, she did not share my … feelings for Doctor Jackson. She respected him as a scientist, but as a fighter she is more drawn to the Colonel."

"Yeah?" Sandra said, wondering why Garshaw's confession should make her feel angry. If she hadn't known better, she would've said she was jealous.

"Indeed." That was Garshaw's voice, and Sandra sensed that the chick-chat was over. "But I would not burden him with this knowledge. Nor should you tell him."

"I wouldn't betray a confidence, Garshaw," Sandra said now, startled into informality.

A smile touched Garshaw's mouth. "I believe you, Lieutenant," she said.

"Sandra," Sandra said. "Both of you; call me Sandra."

Garshaw dipped her head. "Sandra," she acknowledged. She touched Sandra's arm. "What are your intentions toward Colonel O'Neill?"

"Say what?" Sandra yelped.

"I have observed your interactions with him – your candor and flirtation. I have the greatest respect for the Colonel, and I will not let you hurt him."

Flirtation? She wouldn't know how to flirt if her life depended on it. "He's my commanding officer," she said, "nothing more." _Really?_, her inner voice taunted her.

Garshaw observed Sandra narrowly then smiled. "The bud is a late bloomer, but when it blossoms it will be the most beautiful of them all."

"Huh?" What was it with aliens and being quixotic? They had it down to a fine art.

Garshaw smiled at Sandra then closed her eyes. When she opened them, Yosuf was in control once more. "Please forgive Garshaw, Sandra," she said softly. "Two thousand years of life has given her a great deal of wisdom, but it appears no tact."

"Two thousand? Whoa, Nelly," Sandra muttered. "I thought Tok'ra generally had a shorter life span than Goa'uld."

"That is usually the case," Yosuf said. "As Tok'ra will not take hosts by force, they usually die with their first host. In Garshaw's case, there has always been someone willing to blend with her and thereby preserve her life." She looked at Sandra thoughtfully. "You do not appear to share your comrades' unease around the Tok'ra. Even Selmak's daughter is a little wary of us."

"Jacob," Sandra corrected. "Sam is Jacob's daughter."

"Of course; my apologies," Yosuf said.

"Yeah … well … I haven't witnessed the same things as they have," Sandra said. "O'Neill lost his friend Skaara to Klorel, Carter was taken over by Jolinar and Teal'c carries a Goa'uld. They trust you, but they're a little … freaked by the symbiosis."

"And you, Sandra? You are not … freaked?"

Sandra sighed. "Of course I am," she said. "But I accept that different ways work for different people. Yeah; I've got my prejudices, but I try to work my way past them."

"You are very wise for one so young," Garshaw said now. "I am very pleased that you have joined the Tauri for this mission."

"If things work out, I'll be staying on SG-1 for a while yet," Sandra said, enjoying both Yosuf's and Garshaw's company. Garshaw's bluntness suited her, as did Yosuf's sense of humor. Despite their differences, they were a good match.

She breathed in deeply, wishing absurdly for some windows. She'd always been mildly claustrophobic, but could usually control it. "Uh, is there any way I can get some air?" she said.

"Certainly," Yosuf said. "We can ring up to the outside world."

"Cool," Sandra said. "Lead the way."

"Sandra" – a note of laughter filled Yosuf's voice – "perhaps you should change your attire. It is very … smart, but not practical for walking in the desert."

"Huh?" Sandra recalled then that she was still wearing her dress uniform. She hated the thing like the dickens; it showed far too much of her legs. Yet she'd been so comfortable in the company of SG-1 and the Tok'ra that she'd completely forgotten about the skirt. "Oh, yeah," she said now. "Good idea," she added lamely.

* * *

Jack headed for the center chamber, where the transport rings were located. If he spent any more time with that jumped up little snake-head Timan, he was going to shove his P90 up some place where the sun didn't shine.

On the way, he met Garshaw and Ryan – evidently with the same idea, for Ryan had changed into her BDUs. "Ladies," he said politely.

"Colonel," Ryan said, somewhat stiffly. "Would you like to join us?"

Resisting the urge to check his breath, Jack sent a grin her way. "How could I resist such a charming invitation?" he replied.

He settled himself as the rings surrounded him and his two attractive companions – all he needed now was Carter, and he'd have his very own harem. Chiding himself for his sexist thoughts, he stepped free of the … transporter beam? … as it deposited them on the surface.

Next to him, Ryan breathed in deeply, her delicate profile tilted upward as she surveyed the two moons. "Gorgeous," she murmured then blushed faintly.

"Indeed," Yosuf replied. "Is this the first time you have been to a binary system, Sandra?"

_Sandra?_, Jack wondered.

"No, but it's the first time I've had the luxury of just standing and looking at it," she said. "I served previously with SG-3 – the Marines."

"Marines?" Yosuf said.

Ryan grinned slightly. "Ground pounders. Foot soldiers. I guess you could compare us to the Jaffa."

Yosuf dipped her head. "I understand," she said. She turned to Jack. "I believe that you wish to carry out a mineral survey of this planet."

"Yeah; just achin' to," Jack said then sighed. "Yeah; SG-8 will be joining us sometime tomorrow to do the work."

"While you point your P90 and look menacing, Colonel?" Yosuf inquired mischievously.

Jack chuckled, surprised at this sense of humor he hadn't expected from a Tok'ra. Except for Jacob – who was still quite new to the snake-head thing – the Tok'ra seemed rather a dour lot. "Hey, I never claimed to be a scientist," he said.

He waited for a sarcastic comment from Ryan, and was oddly deflated when it didn't materialize. Had he done something to offend her?

* * *

As they walked along the sand dunes, Sandra struggled to fight her growing awareness of Colonel O'Neill. She'd avoided talking to him since Garshaw had accused her of flirting with him – she didn't want him to get the wrong idea about her.

But she could at least admit it to herself. She liked him. She liked his face, the way he moved, his brash irreverence and the keen brain he did his best to hide from the world. But he was years older than her, and he was her superior officer. And she … she was too scarred, both physically and mentally, to be able to indulge in a relationship or even a fling.

No matter how tempting that idea was.

She walked silently with Yosuf and the Colonel, somehow matching their long strides, listening to them chat. O'Neill seemed surprised at Yosuf's friendliness – _how can he have been allies with these people for nearly four years without realizing what a warm and giving people they are?_, Sandra thought.

"Hey, kid," he said suddenly. "You're very quiet – cat got your tongue?"

_I'm not a kid!_, Sandra wanted to tell him, although she knew there was nothing pejorative in his use of the word. Coming from him, it was a term of endearment – like 'jarhead' – and she didn't usually resent it. "No, sir," she said. "Just enjoying the peace." A little imp of mischief made her add, "Well, until you broke it, that is."

He grinned at that, the action lighting up his soft brown eyes. "That's better," he said, patting her shoulder.

_I wonder what he'd do if I just grabbed him and kissed him?_ Sandra flushed at the thought, wondering why her imagination was so fertile tonight. She'd never been interested in that sort of thing before – maybe The Hand was right and all women were sluts.

"Ryan? Hey, kid; you've gone white as a sheet. Are you okay?"

Sandra looked up as The Hand spoke. After years of fear, something inside her snapped. She lashed out at The Hand, catching him heavily in the solar plexus. With a groan, he crumpled to the ground. Before he could punish her, she took her chance and fled.

* * *

"Ryan?" Jack said, wondering what had happened. "Hey, kid; you've gone white as a sheet. Are you okay?"

Suddenly, she kicked him in the stomach. "Oh, holy sh …," he muttered, folding to the sand. Ryan then took off like a bat out of hell.

"Colonel? Are you all right?" Yosuf said, helping him to his feet.

"Yeah; peachy," he grunted. "We'd better find her; she could get lost very easily."

"Is she always so … volatile?" Garshaw asked.

"I've only known her a coupla days, but I wouldn't say this was normal." Jack had spent four months imprisoned in an Iraqi stinkhole, and knew flashback country when he saw it. He pulled out his radio. "O'Neill to Carter; come in."

A burst of static, then his 2IC responded. "_Carter here._"

"Grab Teal'c and some search and rescue equipment – Ryan's gone missing."

One of the things Jack liked about Carter was that she knew when not to ask questions. Instead, she simply said, "_We're on our way, Colonel._"

"O'Neill out."

* * *

She'd been running for what felt like hours now, yet adrenaline kept her going past the point of exhaustion. If she stopped, The Hand would find her. She knew that.

She crashed through a forest, slapping impatiently at the branches that kept getting in her way and stumbling through streams.

A staticky noise issued from her breast pocket. "_Ryan?_" someone – a woman – asked. "_Come in, Ryan._"

The woman sounded … nice, but The Hand could also be nice. She wasn't about to trust the voice. With a cry of despair, she flung the radio against a tree, where it shattered. "You'll never find me," she said defiantly just before she smacked into a large stone object.

* * *

Sandra groaned and raised her hand to her head, then looked up at the Stargate. What the hell was she doing so far from the Tok'ra base? O'Neill would be getting ready to have a fit by now.

Still disoriented, she dug in her pockets for her radio. "D'oh!" she muttered. She must have left it at the Tok'ra base.

She got up with a wince, and prepared herself for the trek back to base – _time to face the music_, she mused unhappily.

She stumbled along the dunes, and spotted Teal'c and Major Carter. "Major!" she called softly.

Carter turned, and there was obvious relief on her features. "Thank God you're all right!" she said. "Now, why did you leave the camp and attack the Colonel?" she added severely.

Sandra stared at her, bewildered. "I … what?" she said. She'd never attack her CO – that was a surefire way of winding up in the stockade.

"Perhaps questions can wait until after her injuries have been tended to, Major Carter," Teal'c said gently.

Sandra wobbled as she turned to follow them. "Dizzy," she muttered.

"I will carry you, Lieutenant Ryan," Teal'c offered.

Before Sandra could say yea or nay, she found herself swung up in his massive arms. "Lay on, Macduff," she said.

* * *

Jack looked up from his pacing as he heard the peculiar whooshing noise that indicated that the rings were in use. Carter and Teal'c stepped free, the Jaffa holding Lieutenant Ryan in his arms. "She okay?" he asked. A livid bruise marred her porcelain skin, which seemed to be drawn more tightly against her cheekbones than was normal.

The Lieutenant – who seemed to have ditched her eye patch during her flight – groaned. "Geez; don't scream, fly-boy," she complained.

A grin spread over Jack's face. "She's okay," he said, although he was still concerned as to what had possessed her to fell him than flee. "Hey, kid, let's get that bump sorted."

"Okay," she said and wriggled in Teal'c's arms. "You can put me down, thanks," she said to him. "I can manage."

"As you wish," Teal'c said gently. He put her down carefully, almost solicitously, and O'Neill's curiosity was piqued. Did the big guy see their mini Marine as a substitute for his son?

"Whoa …," Ryan muttered, grabbing Jack's arm as she swayed. "Geez; I must've really clocked myself," she added, her fingers clutching his arm in a death grip.

"Carter; get the first aid kit," Jack said, handing Teal'c his P90 then putting a supportive arm around Ryan's slender shoulders.

"You know; I'd deck any other guy who had his hand where yours is, fly-boy," she said now.

Startled, Jack looked down and realized that his fingers were resting on a surprisingly full, rounded breast. He snatched it away, blushing furiously. _Good, great, O'Neill_, he thought. _She can report you for harassment. Hello, Airman O'Neill._

"Hey, chill," she added, perhaps sensing his discomfort. "You're not the sleazy type. If you were, you wouldn't have gotten up to full Colonel." Gripping his arm, she tottered to a seat and submitted to Carter's ministrations.

"Sandra; are you all right?" Garshaw appeared swiftly from one of the many side tunnels and went straight to Ryan's side.

Ryan's hand fluttered up to her face. "I guess so, but … I don't remember what happened. One minute, I was walking on the dunes with you and the Colonel, the next I was standing at the Stargate."

"You don't remember slugging me?" Jack said with a grimace – his stomach was still tender.

Ryan's large eyes widened. "I hit you?" she said. "Why would I do that?"

"It is not uncommon for there to be a loss of memory after a blow to the head," Yosuf interjected smoothly. She helped Ryan to her feet. "I have prepared quarters for you – you must rest now."

"Okay." Ryan looked at her like a tired and trusting child then allowed Yosuf to lead her away.

* * *

Sandra woke blearily as the alarm on her watch beeped its shrill demand. She debated crushing the watch into a million tiny pieces, but reminded herself that it was Marine Corps property.

She frowned as she tried to piece together what had happened last night. She'd had a good chat with Yosuf/Garshaw, then they'd gone for a walk on the surface. O'Neill had joined them, then … nothing.

She shook her head then growled as a knife of pain made itself known behind her eyes. According to Yosuf, she'd attacked Colonel O'Neill and then fled to the Stargate. But why would she attack him? He was her CO and, more importantly, her friend.

After cleansing with the water one of the Tok'ra had thoughtfully provided, she felt rather more ready to face the day. Changing into her standard green BDUs, she whistled off-key then grabbed for the covered elastic that held her unruly hair in place. She tugged the strands into her usual neat plait then flung the tail over her shoulder.

She stuck her tongue out at her reflection then headed out of the chamber. Things to do, people to see …

She picked up speed as she rounded a corner and ran full tilt into Colonel O'Neill, crashing the top of her head into his chin. "Ow," she muttered.

His hands landed carefully on her shoulders and pushed her gently away. "Ow," he echoed wryly. "You seem to really have it in for me lately, kid," he commented. "Are you okay?"

His soft brown eyes searched Sandra's face, and his hands remained on her shoulders. Hands … The Hand. She gasped as the missing memories came rushing back full force.

The shrink from the Welfare Service had said that she might have flashbacks. She'd dismissed her, but maybe there was something to what she'd said after all. She'd been afraid for so many years, yet she felt no fear of O'Neill. She lowered her eyes and wriggled free. "Yeah, I'm okay," she mumbled.

"Ready to get to work, kid?" he added.

Sandra could almost hear the grin, and wondered why he wasn't more angry about what she'd done last night. "Sir," she began hesitantly, "when this mission's over, I'm quite prepared to face a Board of Inquiry. I had no right to attack you – and I'm prepared to face the penalty." _Hello, Private Ryan_, she thought.

He put his hand on her arm. "That won't be necessary," he said. "You weren't yourself last night – no reason to get the bureaucrats involved."

"I … thank you, sir," she said, surprised.

"But as someone who's … older and maybe wiser, I'm here if you want to talk."

Greatly daring, she put her hand briefly on his much larger one. "I'm … not ready yet," she admitted. "But … thank you. I will tell you some day – just not today."

"I'll hold you to that, kid," he said.

* * *

Jack smiled down at the mini Marine as she bounced alongside him. Whatever had haunted her last night seemed to have retreated for now, and her usual fun-loving irreverent personality was making itself known.

There was an almost infectious energy to her that made him feel ten years younger. Jack liked kids – always had – and they returned his regard, maybe sensing a kindred spirit. He'd been in a very dark place for a long time after Charlie's death, and he didn't want to go there ever again.

"Hey, jarhead; how d'you know where you're going?" he said, having lost track of all the twists and turns. Although he was pretty good at finding his way round places, these Tok'ra tunnels all looked exactly the same to him.

She grinned up at him. "I've always had a good sense of direction, fly-boy," she said. "Three years as a ground pounder just enhanced that ability."

They rounded yet another corner and Jack frowned as he saw Timan bearing down on them. He didn't know what it was, but something about this Tok'ra really got up his nose.

"Good morning, Timan," Ryan said.

The Tok'ra bowed slightly to her. "And to you, too, Lieutenant," he said in a non-Goa'uld voice. That had to be the host – whoever he was. Timan had not seen fit to make introductions. He held out some pieces of machinery to Ryan. "We managed to salvage these from a captured Ha'tak – will they be of any use in your repairs?"

"Yeah, sure, ya betcha!" Ryan said enthusiastically. "You're an angel of mercy!" she added.

"You are welcome," Timan said, shifting uncomfortably.

_Good Lord_, Jack realized, _he's blushing! He's got a crush on our jarhead!_

"Yeah; this should be good," Ryan continued, completely unaware of Timan's blushing confusion. She waved one of the parts at Jack. "Look, sir, this can replace the crystals in the CPU and then we can …"

"A-ah!" Jack recognized the look on Ryan's face and he wasn't about to languish through an engineering treatise … not peacefully, anyway. "I trust you, kid. You go do your thing – I'll go do mine."

She grinned and he had the uncomfortable feeling she could already read him like a book. "Yo, sir!" she drawled, giving him a flippant salute. Flipping her glossy plait over her shoulder, she disappeared along one of the tunnels, Timan by her side, and Jack was left to navigate the maze by himself.

"D'oh!"

* * *

Sandra whistled an upbeat song as she worked with Timan on the Tok'ra CPU. It was funny, she mused, that she'd had a memory of The Hand, but that memory didn't have its old power. Maybe, one day, she might be able to let someone get closer to her.

"Lieutenant; I have the part you wanted," said Timan's host, Solen. He handed it to her.

"Thanks, Solen, but I've already told you; call me Sandra," she said, dropping to the ground and working one of the burned-out crystals free of its casing. Solen seemed like a nice guy, if somewhat stiff, yet he and O'Neill spent half their time together hollering at each other.

"Sandra." Solen's accent gave her commonplace name an exotic sound. "I will try to remember," he added.

"Good," Sandra said. "Hey; hand me my pliers," she requested.

No response.

She got up and waved her hand in front of Solen's face. "Yo; anyone home?" she inquired.

Solen came back to … Earth, or Rhiel? … with a start. "Your pliers," he said, putting them in her hand.

"What's up with you today?" Sandra asked. "You're away with the fairies."

Either fairies featured in Solen's culture or he chose to ignore the reference. "Forgive me, Lieutenant – I am … somewhat preoccupied." He turned to her, his pale blue eyes searching her face. "As a female; may I ask you for your counsel?"

"Sure," Sandra said. "I don't know whether I can help, but I'll listen."

"Thank you," Solen replied. "As you know, I was blended with Timan when I was fifteen turns. Therefore, I have not experienced what other men have." He paused and blushed wildly. "I am … interested in someone, but I do not know how to tell her so. What if she rejects me?"

Sandra shrugged. "You're talking to the wrong girl, Solen – I've got no experience with that sort of thing myself. But if you really like this girl, I think you should tell her. You'll always wonder what you could be missing."

"Do you really believe so?" Solen asked.

"Yeah," Sandra said, even whilst cursing herself for being a hypocrite. Maybe it was time she took some of her own advice …

* * *

Jack got up from the ground and eyed Teal'c defiantly. They'd been sparring with staffs for only ten minutes, and the big guy had already sent him crashing twice. "Come on, T – another round," he said.

Teal'c raised an eyebrow then dipped his head in acquiescence. "Of course," he said.

"Hey, Teal'c," Lieutenant Ryan said, appearing silently from around a corner.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant Ryan," Teal'c said courteously. "I trust you have recovered from your misadventure?"

"Oh, I'm just peachy," the Lieutenant responded. "Uh, Teal'c, could I have a word with Colonel O'Neill – in private?"

"Of course," Teal'c said, bowing minutely. "Another time for our match, O'Neill?"

"You got it, T," Jack said, both relieved and disappointed at the reprieve. As Teal'c moved out of the chamber, he grinned down at his favorite jarhead. "So, what's up, kid?"

She didn't seem to know where to begin, and Jack resigned himself to an hour of techno-babble that would make even the most hard-core sci-fi fan blanch. "Come on, Ryan; spit it out," he prompted.

She pulled off her cap and tugged at her plait – a gesture he'd already learned indicated nerves. _This is really gonna suck_, he thought.

"Uh … wow. This is harder than I thought it'd be," she said. "It's … uhm … personal."

Jack was not a naturally patient man, but he was sensitive enough to realize when a friend needed his support. "If there's something on your mind, kid, you can tell me. I won't judge you."

She smiled slightly. "I know," she said. "That's why I like you – one of the reasons, anyway."

"Yeah; I like you too, kid," he said, wondering where she was going with this.

She took a deep breath. "No … I mean; I like you, like you. Not just as a friend. And don't worry," she added in a rush, "I'll transfer out of SG-1 to save you any embarrassment. It's just … you're the first man I've ever trusted personally, and I wanted you to know."

She took another deep breath – unaware of Jack's stunned codfish expression – then put her hands on his shoulders. She went up on her toes and put her lips softly to his, suckling awkwardly but gently on his bottom lip.

He opened his mouth to give permission for her to deepen the kiss. She didn't do so. Instead, the kiss ended and she let go of him. "I … I liked that," she said shyly, not meeting his eyes. "And I'm sorry for putting you in this spot, but I had to … know if I could ever have a normal life. I'll head back to Earth, and get an immediate transfer."

Jack finally found his voice, stunned at the effect that sweet kiss had had upon him. "Hey, kid … Sandra; what did you mean by a 'normal life'? I think it's time you talked to me."

She swallowed hard. "Yes; I owe you that much," she replied. She sat down on the ground and he followed suit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"My mother and father divorced when I was nine," Ryan began. "I saw him pretty regularly for about a year, then he was transferred to the Pentagon. That same year, Mama began seeing someone; a big handsome guy named Gabe. He laughed a lot – not like Daddy – and I was real happy when they got married a couple months later."

Jack's fists clenched. "The son of a bitch abused you!" He could picture the young Sandra Ryan, with blonde hair and enormous gray eyes – so very vulnerable.

She dropped her head, going pale. "Not at first," she said. "He took us places – Graceland, Disney World – and we had good times." She inhaled deeply. "Then I woke up one day when I was 14 and found that Mama had left in the night with our next door neighbor. Anyway, after the divorce, things weren't the same. Gabe tried to track down my dad, but he couldn't find him, so he was stuck with me. He started drinking – a lot – and … well, it happens to a lot of people."

"Did he …?" Jack's stomach twisted. "Uh … you know?"

"No," Ryan replied quickly. "Even at his worst, he didn't rape me." She aimed a shadow of her normally dazzling smile at Jack. "When he was drunk, he used to tell me … that all women were sluts. Then he'd … mark me in places that friends would never see, but boyfriends might."

That explained the cigarette burns, Jack mused. "Did you have a flashback last night?" he asked.

She sighed. "Garshaw accused me of flirting with you, which I thought was ridiculous," she admitted. "I wouldn't know how to flirt if my life depended on it. But I knew I liked you. Yet I didn't want you to get ideas." Another heavy sigh issued, and she put her face into her hands. "I'm so confused," she mumbled from behind her hands. "Part of me is terrified of letting anyone get closer to me – The Hand saw to that – but another part of me is … really drawn to you."

Jack's stomach flip-flopped as she raised her head and looked at him with great big eyes. Here he was, a confirmed cynic on the wrong side of 40, and this sweet innocent girl was attracted to him, despite the abuse she'd suffered at the hands of her stepfather. "Sandra," he began carefully, "I don't want to take advantage of you. You need to find someone your own age – I'm too old for you."

"Why d'you refer to yourself as old, fly-boy?" Ryan retorted crossly.

"Because I am old, jarhead," he said. "Witness these gray hairs." He pulled his cap off to display them.

She barely glanced at them. "Age isn't a matter of years; it's a state of mind," she said. "Some people are old farts all their lives, but people like you could be young for a long time yet." Another sigh. "And you wouldn't be taking advantage of me." She blushed. "I kissed you, remember?"

"Yeah; I remember," he said wryly. He didn't know what to say. He was attracted to the mini Marine, much to his own surprise, and he'd enjoyed the soft tentative kiss. Yet he felt like some lecherous old geezer at the same time. "When we get back to Earth, I'll approve your transfer request," he said now. "But, for now, we've got a mission to complete."

Her eyes widened and she went scarlet. "Oh, geez; I've made a real idiot of myself, haven't I?" she mourned.

He put a hand on her shoulder. "No," he said. "But I think you should talk to someone when this is over."

She frowned. "Oh, crap; I had enough of those skull-jockeys when I was taken by Welfare Services," she said. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I don't suppose … I could talk to you instead?" she asked. "You … don't feel for me what … I feel for you, and I'm okay with that. But I could use a friend."

Her large gray eyes fixed pleadingly on his face, and Jack knew he couldn't refuse her request – it would be too like swatting a spaniel puppy unjustly. "You got it, kid," he said with another pat on her shoulder. "Now, get back to work."

She grinned at him. "Yes, sir!" she said, snapping off a smart salute. She walked away and turned the corner. "Oh, by the way, Colonel" – her voice floated back to him.

"Yes, Ryan?" he said. He could almost hear her grin.

"Nice butt."

Jack blinked but, before he could frame a suitable retort, she had disappeared. "Back atcha," he mumbled.

* * *

Humming cheerfully to herself, Sandra navigated the intricate network of tunnels that made up the Tok'ra base. She stopped suddenly and shook her head. "Nice butt?" she murmured, amazed at her own boldness. It seemed that telling Jack – Colonel O'Neill, she corrected firmly – about Gabe had helped more than she'd thought. She didn't think she was yet ready for a deep relationship, but it appeared that she could now handle a light flirtation.

She realized also that she'd lost some of her bitterness toward Gabe. After all, it was the drink that had made him abuse her – each time it had happened, he'd cried and sworn it would never happen again. One time, he'd managed to stay sober for six months, and he'd become the loving father he'd once been and that her own father had never achieved.

She smiled slightly, determined to hold on to her good memories of the past. Only by doing that could she ever hope to achieve a normal existence. Maybe she could never have a physical relationship – she wouldn't want to have to explain her scars – but at least she could live without the fear that had haunted her for the last ten years.

She entered the command center and smiled at Garshaw. "Good afternoon."

Garshaw dipped her head. "And to you too, Sandra," she said. She closed her eyes. "Good afternoon," Yosuf added. "You appear to have recovered from your experience."

"Yeah; it's all good," Sandra drawled, broadening her Louisiana drawl. "I'm sorry for what I did last night. I had … issues to work out."

"And you have resolved these … issues?" Yosuf asked, indicating that Sandra should join her.

Sandra sat down. "Not yet, but I'm getting there," she replied in her usual – more muted – accent. At one time her accent had been thicker than mud, but the last six years spent in the North had mellowed it.

"I am pleased, Sandra," Garshaw said now, "and I know my host shares my pleasure." She indicated a selection of delicacies. "Will you join us for the afternoon meal?" She looked at Sandra thoughtfully. "My host is of human stock; therefore, there should be nothing harmful to your physiology."

"Thanks; I'm pretty hungry," Sandra admitted cheerfully, tucking her chair under the table.

As she made her way through the meal, she couldn't help but recall the stunned silence that had greeted her comment to O'Neill. She didn't regret the comment, but she did regret not having seen his reaction. She giggled and the fruit juice she'd been sipping went down the wrong way.

"Are you all right, Sandra?" Yosuf asked.

"Fine," gasped Sandra, dabbing at her tearing eyes. "Just choked."

Yosuf appeared visibly relieved. "That is good," she said. "While you Tauri soldiers are strong for your breed, to we Tok'ra you are physically fragile. Our symbiotes cure most illnesses readily and extend our life span appreciably."

"Yeah, but spending your life with another voice in your head?" Sandra said, taking a more measured swallow of the juice. "That ain't for me – I like to be alone."

Yosuf smiled. "We have not known each other for very long, Sandra, but I believe I know when you are … deluding yourself," she offered. "You have two conflicting needs; that of solitude and that of companionship."

Sandra choked on her juice again, startled at the older woman's perspicacity. It was pretty similar to what she herself had said to O'Neill earlier. "Well, there's a difference between seeking out company and having someone around 24-7."

Yosuf nodded her head. "I felt the same way before my blending with Garshaw. But what sense of privacy I lost was more than outweighed by my gains. I have Garshaw's memories, her intellect and her wisdom – much more than any non-blended human could ever hope to achieve."

Sandra looked at her friend suspiciously. "Are you trying to … recruit me?" she asked, not sure whether to be flattered or annoyed.

"No," Garshaw said now. "Our hosts come to us willingly. Sometimes, yes, they are ill and seek a cure. But they bring their experiences and unique personalities with them. We will not take hosts against their will."

"Good," Sandra said. "Trust me; if you tried it, you'd be dead meat on a stick."

"We would not," Garshaw said. "But we offer the opportunity to people like yourself – there is a lot you could bring to the Tok'ra and a lot you could learn in return."

Sandra shook her head slowly. "Thanks for the offer, but … I just don't see it happening."

"I … hope we have not offended you?" Yosuf inquired anxiously. "I have enjoyed your companionship very much during the last day. I would not want to jeopardize that."

"You haven't," Sandra said, attacking the vegetable stew with gusto. It reminded her of the food she'd had when she and Gabe had spent a week in New Orleans. That had been the last holiday they'd had together. Six weeks later, he'd beaten her so badly their neighbors had called the Child Protection services. They'd taken her away that night, and she'd never seen him again.

Pushing the dark memories aside, she smiled at her … host, for want of a better term. "This is good," she said. "Could I be a piggy and have some more?"

"Of course," Yosuf said, brightening noticeably and ladling some more of the stew into Sandra's bowl. "I do not cook very often, but find it to be rewarding."

"You cooked all this?" Sandra could barely boil an egg, and subsisted on take-out and TV dinners. "But … you're the leader of the Tok'ra! You're, like, their queen!"

"Garshaw is the leader of this branch of the Tok'ra," Yosuf said, "and we have only had one Queen – Egeria, the First Tok'ra. Many centuries ago, she led a rebellion against Ra; that led to the genesis of our movement."

"Ra! Tok. Ra," Sandra said. "Against Ra?"

"Indeed." Yosuf looked pleased at Sandra's deduction. "When Doctor Jackson and Colonel O'Neill killed Ra on Abydos, they too became Tok'ra, in a sense."

* * *

"O'Neill; you appear preoccupied," Teal'c stated.

Jack came back to earth with a start – almost against his will, he'd been recalling the warm kiss Ryan had given him. "Sorry, T," he said, pulling off his cap and dragging a hand through his hair. "I was somewhere else." A warm and happy place.

"That much is evident," Teal'c said. "We must leave for the Chaapa'ai – SG-8 will arrive in less than two hours."

"Geez." Jack lurched to his feet and pushed Ryan firmly to the back of his mind. "Let's go."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "An exceedingly apposite suggestion, O'Neill," he commented.

Despite his five years on Earth, Teal'c had not yet assimilated to human emotions. But he had an aptitude for sarcasm that was beginning to blossom under the tutelage of Professor Jack O'Neill. Now, however, the Professor realized maybe the student was outpacing the teacher. "Yeah, yeah; shut up," he grumbled.

After the rings had deposited them on the surface, Teal'c spoke once more. "I respect your wish for privacy, O'Neill, but you have helped me with … personal difficulties on many occasions. I would return that service."

Jack debated. Daniel would have understood, but he was gone. Carter was military like O'Neill and she was a woman. He needed a guy's perspective. "It's Lieutenant Ryan," he said. "She told me earlier that … she's attracted to me."

"Indeed." The eyebrow ratcheted a millimeter higher than usual – that was the Teal'c equivalent of being stunned silly. "And do you return her affection?"

Jack nodded his head. "I think I do, T, but she's so young."

"She is a fully mature female," Teal'c said. "Yes, she has suffered trauma in the past, but she has reached out to you. That shows great courage."

"How d'you know about her past, T?" Jack said. He'd gotten the idea he was the first she'd willingly told.

"I do not," Teal'c said. "But I have observed her involuntary reactions around men. She can deal with them as one soldier to another, but is not comfortable with them in personal encounters."

Sometimes Jack forgot just how perceptive the big guy was.

"What are you doing to address the situation?" Teal'c added.

"Once the mission ends, she's going to request transfer to another team," Jack said. "It won't look good her transferring twice in less than a month, but she said it'll be too awkward for her to remain under my command."

"She believes you do not return her affection," Teal'c said.

"It's better that way," Jack said, trying to convince himself also. "She can find someone more her own age."

"It has been my experience that females of that age find men their own age juvenile," Teal'c said.

The big guy had something there, Jack had to admit. He couldn't think how many of the girls he knew had gone after older guys when he'd been in his early 20s. "Yeah, well … she'll get over that," he said. "She's just got a crush on me."

"If she learns you are lying to spare her feelings, she will feel patronized," Teal'c said now. "She is a warrior, like us – she does not need your protection."

Recalling both the kiss and the cheeky comment she'd made, Jack was forced to agree.

* * *

Sandra pushed back from the table with a satisfied sigh. "That was great," she said. "I hadn't realized how hungry I was." She looked at her watch. "Geez! I'd better get back to work – the Colonel'll have my butt!"

A small frown appeared on Yosuf's face – evidently, she wasn't familiar with American idiom. "I do not believe he will resort to violence, Sandra," she said. "He is not that kind of man – he cares deeply for his people's welfare."

"Yeah; I know," Sandra said, getting up and jamming her cap back on her head. "I just meant I'll get into trouble."

"You will not," Garshaw said – by now, Sandra had gotten used to the abrupt change from host to symbiote, and she didn't even blink. "He left several minutes ago, with the Jaffa, to greet your colleagues from SG-8."

"Teal'c," Sandra said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"His name is Teal'c, not the Jaffa," Sandra insisted.

Garshaw blinked. "As you wish, Sandra," she replied. "You respect him."

"Yeah, I do," Sandra said. "And I can't see why you don't."

"You must understand, Sandra," Garshaw said, "that the Jaffa have been bred to be the soldiers for the Goa'uld – our enemy."

"But not all Jaffa are your enemy," Sandra insisted. "If the Goa'uld are ever to be overthrown, you Tok'ra and the rebel Jaffa will have to learn to work together."

Garshaw dipped her head. "There is wisdom in your words, Sandra," she admitted, "but it is not easy to forget years of hatred."

"I'm with you on that," Sandra admitted, recalling Mike Stevens from SG-3. He'd died at the hands of Ba'al, a shattered, gibbering wreck. Even if Ba'al was to turn round and renounce the Goa'uld, she knew she would personally take great pleasure in blowing his head off. Intellectually, she knew every 'host' was a victim before it became an aggressor, but the primal need for vengeance was hard to deny.

"May I offer my assistance with your work?" Garshaw asked. "My host is a skilled scientist and is much more familiar with Tok'ra technology than you."

"Yeah, sure; that'd be great," Sandra said, realizing suddenly that Garshaw/ Yosuf were lonely. As the leader of this branch of the Tok'ra, they could not become attached to their comrades. _It's lonely at the top_, she reminded herself, glad she was never likely to reach that level.

* * *

"Welcome to P4X 621, gentlemen," Jack greeted SG-8, the science team of the Stargate project. "Major Harris," he added, nodding politely to the young earnest scientist/linguist who led the team. Nice kid, but a bit over-eager at times.

"Colonel," Harris said. "I expected to see the rest of your team."

"They're busy making repairs to the Tok'ra computers," Jack said. "You'll get a chance to chat with them soon enough. We'll head for the base first."

"Colonel; we came here to carry out a mineral survey." Harris persisted. "You may outrank me, but this survey is my mission."

Insolent puppy. Jack whipped off his sunglasses to scowl at the younger man. "The moment you and your scientists stepped through the 'gate, I became responsible for their welfare. You are not soldiers."

Harris smiled, unperturbed by Jack's outburst. "Agreed," he said, "but we have brought back-up." He indicated two burly Marines. "Corporal Weinstein and Corporal Kinsey."

Kinsey? Nah. Could it be? Jack set his jaw and examined the younger man. "Corporal. Any relation to Senator Kinsey?"

The young man nodded his head. "He's my uncle, sir," he said. "But I haven't spoken to him for years."

"Well, that's a point in your favor anyway," Jack said grudgingly then nodded to Corporal Weinstein. "Corporal," he said, managing to hide his shock. The guy was huge. Not just big, like Teal'c, but huge. Topping Jack by several inches, he had hands like shovels and was built like a brick sh …

"Colonel," the Corporal responded in a surprisingly soft voice. "It's an honor to serve with you, sir."

It had been Jack's observation that the bigger men were, the gentler they were – as if they were afraid of what would happen if they let go. Teal'c was a big, scary warrior, yet he was extremely gentle and caring. It was the little guys that tended to be nasty, like Maybourne. "This is Teal'c," he said.

"A pleasure," Weinstein said, extending his hand to Teal'c. The two big guys clasped forearms tightly and Jack grinned – it was time T had someone his own size to fight.

* * *

"Sandra; if I am intruding, I apologize," Yosuf said, looking over from the communications equipment. "But you have been smiling to yourself for a great deal of time with no discernible reason."

Sandra started, unaware of the sappy smile that had been gracing her face. "Oh! I'm just … happy, I guess," she said lamely.

That piece of fudging would have been greeted by skepticism from anyone else, but Yosuf took her words at face value. "That is good," she said. "Both Garshaw and I are glad. We would like to continue our friendship with you – you are unusually tolerant of differences."

Sandra smiled. "There's an old Hebrew prayer that praises diversity in whatever form it comes."

"Hebrew? Is that a religion of the Tauri?" Yosuf asked.

"It's the written language for Judaism – Yiddish is the spoken form," Sandra said. "My stepfather is Jewish, and I sometimes went to temple with him. And we celebrated Hanukkah as well as Christmas."

"Your world has such a variety of faiths," said Yosuf. "Does this never cause problems?"

"It can do," Sandra said. "There's nothing wrong with religion itself, but some people use it as an excuse to be extremely crappy to each other."

"Yes," Yosuf said unhappily. "That occurred also on my world. There were two main factions – the ones who believed in the false gods and those who did not."

"Then why didn't he wipe out the non-believers?" Sandra asked. "That's usually the snake-head way."

"Indeed," Garshaw said now. "But it appeared to … amuse him to set Yosuf's people against each other in never-ending civil war. Erildecia's false god is Ba'al."

"That slimy, greasy-assed son of a bitch – it's just his style," Sandra said. At Garshaw's questioning glance, she added, "I ran into him on my first mission with SG-3. He'd done that on a world called Nim'lon and was sitting back and laughing. We'd gone there to explore when the anti-Goa'uld faction asked us for our help. As punishment, he captured one of my team-mates and tortured him for days while the rest of us were locked in a nearby cell, able to hear the screams." She shuddered. "God; I can still hear the screams." In the end, for Stevens, death had been a blessing.

"My condolences for your loss," Garshaw said quietly. "Were you close to him?"

"No," Sandra said. "He asked me out and I turned him down flat. I hurt his feelings – maybe if I'd just give him hope, he wouldn't have been distracted, and Ba'al couldn't have gotten his hands on him." She sighed heavily. "Anyway, there's no point dwelling on something I can't change. I'd go nuts."

"Agreed," Garshaw said. She flicked a switch, and various lights came on. "I had forgotten how satisfying this work can be," she said. "My host takes great pleasure from repairing machinery, and I did not completely understand it until now."

"I'm an engineer, Garshaw," Sandra said. "I totally agree with you."

"Well, then," Garshaw said, rising and dusting off her hands, "shall we proceed to the next job?"

"You're the boss," Sandra said, amused at Garshaw's enthusiasm.

"Yes, Timan; what is it?" Garshaw asked as Timan skidded into the chamber.

"Forgive the intrusion, Garshaw, but the scientists of the Tauri have crossed through the Chaapa'ai," he said.

"Then we shall greet them," Garshaw said regally. "Would you care to join us, Sandra?"

"I'd better not," Sandra said, prying open a panel on another computer bank. "I think after decking Colonel O'Neill last night, I'd better tread carefully."

Garshaw got an amused glint in her eye. "Indeed," she said. "Will we see you later for the evening meal?"

Sandra smiled at her friend. "I'd like that," she said.

"Until this evening, then." Garshaw inclined her head gracefully and left the chamber.

Timan lingered. "May I offer my assistance, Lieutenant?" he inquired.

"Sure," Sandra grunted, stretching up to one of the high panels and unlocking it. The distinctive smell of burned-out crystals made itself known and she recoiled. "Damn! That stinks!" she muttered.

"It does," Timan said, passing her a hospital mask. "This will protect you from the worst of it."

"Thanks," Sandra said gratefully. She put the mask on quickly – it really did reek inside that panel – and noted the almost immediate improvement. "Say, these are good. What's in them?"

"A mild narcotic that deadens the sense of smell," Timan said. "The effect is only temporary – a little more than one of your hours – but that should be sufficient." He went over to her. "Lieutenant; you recall our earlier conversation?" This was now Solen speaking.

"Of course," Sandra said; more truthfully, she recalled what had happened afterward. Although the Colonel didn't share the attraction, what she'd done had been a big step forward for her.

She grasped a burned-out crystal and removed it carefully from its housing. "So …?" she prompted. "And call me Sandra."

"Of course," Solen said. "Sandra; are you … attached to anyone?"

"Huh?" Even someone with no experience could see where this conversation was going. "No. Why?"

"Nor am I. But, lately, I have become interested in Sirena, host to Gal'na."

_So much for that assumption_, Sandra mused.

"I believe that she returns my interest, but I don't wish to presume," Solen continued. "If I had had a sister, I believe that she would have been very much like you. Will you … help me to ascertain Sirena's feelings?"

"Oh, for crying out loud! What are you; in junior high?" Sandra said. "You're both adults; just tell her. What's the worst that could happen?" _Besides her not returning your feelings?_,she added in her head.

Solen brightened considerably. "Your words have wisdom," he said. "Perhaps I will approach her after the evening meal."

"Now," Sandra said. "You're no good to anyone mooning about like this."

Solen squared his shoulders. "If this does not work, am I allowed to blame you?" he asked.

Sandra laughed. "Just bugger off and ask her," she said, removing another crystal. She heard steps behind her and, without turning around, added, "The Tok'ra may have light speed, but they got a piss-poor electrical system. One crystal goes; the whole lot is buggered."

"Indeed?" Selmak responded.

To her credit, Sandra didn't allow herself to get flustered. "Indeed," she parodied. "Don't you people have fuse boxes?"

"How have you lasted in the Marines with that attitude, let alone made it to Lieutenant at the age of 24?" Jacob asked.

Sandra chuckled. "Must be my natural charm," she responded flippantly. "Something I can help you with … Jacob?" The urge to address him as 'sir' was strong, but he'd pointed out that he hadn't been in the Air Force for nearly four years.

"I'm here to help you, Sandra," Jacob said. "I heard what you said to Solen – it was good advice. He has been mooning over the girl for months now."

"Well, we'd better get to work. Major Harris and his team'll be here soon, and I'll have to start work with them."

"Harris? Patrick Harris?" Jacob looked pained.

"I think his name's Patrick; yeah," Sandra said, startled.

"Holy Hannah! I knew that kid when he was a plebe at the Academy – never thought he'd get through basic training, and now he's a Major?"

Sandra smothered a grin – three minutes after she'd met Harris a few months ago, she'd wondered how he'd gotten through basic herself. He seemed so … effete. "Yeah," she said. "As the highest ranking Marine, I'm to take charge of the two he's got, and also provide an engineer's perspective."

"Sounds like you'll be busy," Jacob said.

"Yep, so I'd better get on with this," Sandra said, wrestling another blackened crystal free of its housing. She waved it at Jacob. "I could use your help, s … Jacob," she added.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Several hours later, Sandra checked her watch and decided it was a good time to check out SG-8. Most Marines were typical jarheads and had little respect for techs and scientists – Sandra knew therefore that the Marines would be unlikely to obey any orders from Major Harris. That was why O'Neill had asked her to work with SG-8; "One jarhead to another," he'd said wryly.

Speak of the devil. "Hi, sir," she said.

"Hi," he said, flashing her a weary grin. "Geez; I thought you and Carter were bad with your techno-babble!"

"Go have something to eat, sir – I'll relieve you for a few hours," Sandra said.

"Thanks, kid," he replied, then shoved his hand through his hair. "I should stop calling you that, shouldn't I? Even T doesn't see you as a kid."

"Uh, sure … whatever," Sandra said, startled to see the usually wiseacre Colonel acting so unsure. Hell, he was acting just like Timan! First Timan, then her, now O'Neill. Was there something in the air on this planet?

* * *

"Ryan; I've spoken to Major Harris," Jack said now. "He has a vacancy on his team – it might be a good idea if you transferred."

Ryan looked bewildered. "I was going to ask for a transfer after the mission finished anyway, sir," she said. "I told you I was okay about what happened … or didn't happen." She pulled off her cap and tugged at her plait. "I'm not some hormone-crazy teenager – I can control myself for two weeks," she added sarcastically.

"Take my word for it, Sandra; it's better this way," Jack said. "The sooner you're not under my command, the better."

She flung her plait back over her shoulder. "One of us isn't speaking English, and I have the feeling it's you, sir. Fine; if you want to transfer me out, I'll obey – but you owe me an explanation."

Jack grinned. "Has anyone ever told you you talk too much?" he inquired.

"And you don't talk enough," Sandra said, unraveling her plait. "Got a comb, sir?" she added, dragging her fingers through the shining locks. She looked at his regulation cut – near-regulation, anyway; damn cowlicks. "No; I guess you don't." She finished finger-combing her hair, then replaited it swiftly. "Come on, sir," she said. "I'm burning daylight here."

Jack's hand shot out and stilled hers. "Just listen to me," he said. "I don't want you under my command any more. I'm not allowed to become involved with anyone under my command."

"But we're not …". Sandra looked down at his hand still covering hers, and went red. "I thought you weren't … you didn't return …"

"I had some thinking to do," Jack said. "You're a lot younger than me" – Sandra pulled a face – "and you're very inexperienced. I don't want to take advantage of you."

"You're not," Sandra said. "And the minute you try it, I'll send you through the 'gate to the nearest System Lord. Fair enough?"

Jack grinned, then put a hand out and touched her hair. It was as soft as it looked. "Finish your hair, kid, then report to Major Harris."

"Yes, sir!" Sandra said, winking at him. "Oh, wait a minute. You're not my CO any more." She put her hands on his shoulders. "That means I can do this." She pressed a warm kiss to his lips, her tongue poking out to trace his lips. It was surprisingly erotic for something so timid.

"And I can do this," he said, returning the kiss. _Slowly_, he told himself.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately, exploring his mouth curiously with her tongue. "And we can do …". She broke away from him as he was about to push his tongue into her mouth. "We can't do that," she said, smiling shyly. "You're right; I am inexperienced."

"But the potential is astounding," Jack said, fighting his treacherous male impulses. _Lips away. Arms down. Good soldier._

* * *

Humming cheerfully to herself, Sandra strolled along the dunes to SG-8's encampment. Her passion for Jack had surprised her, but she wasn't exactly averse to what had happened.

Negotiating one of the weird tumbleweeds that always seemed to appear on these desert planets, she grinned and patted the P90 draped across her midriff. Let those jarheads give her any grief and they'd be in for a beat-down of galactic proportions.

She strode over to Major Patrick Harris and his fellow scientists. Geez; they looked like a bunch of kids playing soldiers! She'd be very surprised if any of them knew which way to point a P90, never mind fire it! The recoil would likely knock them flat. "Major Harris," she said politely, saluting the older man. After all, he was a superior officer.

Harris returned the salute. "Lieutenant Ryan, I presume?" he said, smiling slightly at her. "I'm glad you're here – maybe you can do something with your Marines." He grimaced. "They've been 'scouting' the area for hours, and they won't let us set up."

"They're just being cautious," Sandra said. "An incautious soldier is a dead soldier. Which way did they go, Major?"

Harris shrugged. "Don't know – just glad they're gone," he said. He looked at her with a faint air of superiority. "I understand you cross-trained as an engineer," he added. "There'll be little need for that skill on this mission."

Sandra smiled sweetly at him. "I also trained as a metallurgist and have a P-9 computer rating," she pointed out. "Not all Marines are jarheads, sir."

"Touché." Harris mimed a knife to his heart and smiled ruefully. "We are grateful for your assistance, Lieutenant," he continued. "If I'm being short, I apologize – we have been waiting several hours to begin work."

She could sympathize with him – after all, she was a scientist too. "I'm sure they won't be much longer, Major," she said. "A security sweep is SOP."

Two figures appeared from around one of the dunes, and she frowned. The colossus was unfamiliar to her, but the smaller one … Eyes narrowed, she tried to de-age him.

Then it hit her, and she fought back an evil grin. Perhaps this mission was going to be more fun than she'd originally thought.

"Perimeter checks out, Major," the colossus said, his voice surprisingly soft. Then again, Gabe, Teal'c and O'Neill – all big guys – had gentle voices.

"At last!" Harris rolled his eyes. "Corporal, Corporal; this is Lieutenant Ryan – you'll report to her."

Sandra suppressed another evil grin as the two Marines turned to acknowledge her, and the smaller Corporal's eyes widened. "Hey, Kinsey," she said. "Long time, no see." She turned to the giant – he looked even bigger than Teal'c. "Name, Corporal?"

"Weinstein, ma'am," the behemoth said.

"FYI; I prefer 'sir' or 'Lieutenant'," Sandra said.

"Yes, m …, sir!" Weinstein said, blushing furiously.

"Good. Then move out," she said. "Time to help with the unloading."

"Lieutenant …," Kinsey began.

"Move. Out. Corporal," she emphasized, her malicious glee now replaced by puzzlement. He was a good soldier and a hard worker – it was surprising that he was still a Corporal after four years. Then she remembered that … incident with the cadet.

The young cadet had only been 18, and he'd flattered his way into her bed. But it had just been a game to him. The cadet had been devastated and had resigned from the Academy.

_Maybe_, Sandra mused, _he learned his lesson from the court-martial._ Either way, if he moved so much as one toe over the line, she would serve him up his own butt.

* * *

Several hours later, she'd managed to forget Kinsey's annoying presence as she worked with a very nervous scientist on his computer. A lot of scientists were uncomfortable with military personnel, but people like Sandra and Sam Carter were helping to bridge the gulf.

"There you go," she said, pushing the laptop toward him.

The scientist – Felger, was it? – cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said. "You're … not like the other soldiers I've met," he added.

Sandra was unsure whether he was complimenting her or not, and decided to ignore the comment. Besides, her two jarheads would be back soon, and the more distance she kept between them and the techs, the better.

A shadow fell over her. "Hey, jarhead; how's it going?" Jack asked, nodding at the scientist. "Felger," he said.

"Colonel," Felger responded then headed out of the tent.

Sandra turned and smiled up into Jack's lovely brown eyes. "Pretty good, fly-boy," she answered.

"Cool." Jack smiled down at her then his hand brushed her cheek. "You've got a bit of sunburn there, kid," he added. "With skin like yours, you can't be too careful."

"You are not my father, O'Neill," she snapped, irritated at his almost paternal attitude. Whatever their relationship was, it was definitely not that of father and daughter.

Jack's eyes widened. "Hey, relax," he said, tugging at her cap. "I'm not trying to be your father." He leaned down. "The last thing I feel when I look at you is fatherly," he murmured into her ear, his warm breath making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"Oh." This time, the heat in her cheeks had nothing to do with the sun. "Sorry. It's been a weird couple of days," she added. "So much has happened, it's knocked me a little off-balance."

Jack patted her shoulder. "I'm with you there," he admitted. "This isn't exactly normal for me, either."

Sandra heaved a sigh. "Maybe we should just enjoy whatever's happening between us instead of over-analyzing it," she said. "I know this isn't normal for you, but at least you've been in relationships before. Me; I'm flying blind."

"Don't worry," he said. "We'll go as slow as you need. Just tell me if I do something you don't like."

She grinned suddenly. "Have you ever known me to withhold my opinion, fly-boy?" she asked.

"Not often," Jack said. "You've got a very big mouth for your size."

She stuck her tongue out at him then frowned as Weinstein and Kinsey appeared. They were shouting in each other's faces, and appeared to be squaring off for a fight. "Scuse me," she muttered.

She strode over to the burly Marines and pushed her slim form between them, separating them. "Knock it off!" she said. "What're you playing at?"

Neither man responded, although Kinsey did grin sardonically. "What's so funny, Giggles?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing, Lieutenant," Kinsey sneered. "I'm just suddenly nostalgic for the Academy."

Recalling the older man's attitude toward cadets, Sandra frowned. "I'll bet," she said. "Either of you care to tell me what this little rumble was all about?"

"It was private, sir," Weinstein said a good deal more politely than Kinsey.

"Yeah? Well, you two grunts keep your fists off each other, or I'll find a new and painful place to store my P90. Got it?"

Weinstein grinned slightly, evidently unintimidated by her. He nudged Kinsey. "Do techs even know how to point those things?" he asked.

Kinsey grinned, but evidently chose not to share his knowledge that Sandra was a fellow Marine.

Sandra frowned then aimed her P90 at Weinstein. One carefully-aimed shot and his cap flew off his head. "Holy shit!" he said, clutching his hands to his now bare head.

"A girl of many skills, Corporal," she said, patting her P90. "I think I should introduce myself. Lieutenant Sandra Ryan, USMC-72618395." She grinned evilly. "I'm your superior officer – you give me any crap and I'll use your hide as a wall-hanging." She swung round to Kinsey, who was clearly enjoying his colleague's predicament. "That goes for you as well, jarhead," she added. "No running to Uncle Senator for you – I'm going to ride your butts so hard you'll wish you were back in the Academy. Got that?"

They nodded mutely.

"Good. Now get the hell out of here; I'm sick of looking at you," she added.

As they marched away, she became aware of Jack grinning at her. "Nicely done, kid," he said.

"One jarhead to another," she said wryly. "You gotta know how to talk to those guys."

"You seem to have a history with Corporal Kinsey," he commented, handing her a flask of water as they entered SG-8's tent.

"Uh-huh." She took a gulp of the water. "He was an upper-classman during my plebe year at the Academy. He had only two ways of dealing with female cadets – bed them or bully them. He never managed to bed me, so he took it out on me in other ways." She grinned. "Let's just say; revenge is very sweet."

* * *

Jack mused on some of the upper-classmen from his own Academy days, and found he agreed with her sentiments. The majority of them had simply had a dislike for smart-ass plebes, but there had been the odd one who'd crossed over the line into bullying.

"Sandra; we'll be back on Earth next Saturday," he said now. "Would you like to go out for dinner?" It was a long time since he'd done something as innocent as dating, but Sandra had never had the chance teenagers usually had. He wasn't about to rush her, and risk scaring her off.

Not that he actually believed anything could come of their attraction. He was her first fling, but once she got her confidence, there would be others. Besides, the demands of their careers would be an effective barrier against a deeper involvement.

"I'd like that," she said, touching his hand. "Anyway; can't sit here chewing the fat – I've got a metallurgy scan to carry out." Her face lit up with a wicked grin. "Care to join me, Colonel?"

"Uh-uh." Jack shook his head quickly. Whilst he had no objections to playing village idiot when it suited him, he disliked genuinely not knowing. And he was not a scientist. "Nah; I'd better go check up on the troops." He ducked out of the tent and waggled his fingers in a jaunty farewell.

On his way back to the rings, he saw Weinstein's cap and grinned. "Kid; you've got style," he murmured, picking up the cap and studying the burn marks caused by the grazing of the P90. A half-centimeter either way and she could have killed him. Good job she was on their side.

He strode along quickly and saw Teal'c heading toward him. "O'Neill," he said calmly enough, yet Jack saw the urgency in the big man's eyes. "The System Lords have learned of this planet. The Tok'ra are evacuating."

_Sweet._ Jack set his jaw. "Let's split up; we've got a bunch of scientists to evacuate. We'll rendezvous at the 'gate in six hours."

"Of course." The Jaffa moved purposefully away and, not for the first time, Jack was grateful the big guy had turned against his former god.

He took out his radio and activated it. "O'Neill to Ryan; come in."

A harsh burst of static, then, "_Ryan here._" No mistaking the humor in her tone. "_Long time no hear, fly-boy._"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Not now, kid," he said. "Meet me at SG-8's command center in half an hour – the Goa'uld are on their way and we've got techs to evacuate."

"_Understood._" The humor evaporated from the mini Marine's tone.

* * *

Harris burst into the command center; his hair in disarray. "What are you doing, Lieutenant?" he demanded.

"We're bugging out," Sandra responded shortly, not in the mood for questions. "Seems the snake-heads have set their eyes on this place."

"Understood," Harris said. He headed over to one of the computers and began unhooking it rapidly. "How long until they're here?"

"According to Garshaw and Selmak, about forty hours," Sandra said, unwillingly impressed at his thoroughness. She sometimes forgot his rank wasn't honorary. "The Tok'ra are evacuating, and we need to get you and your scientists off this planet PDQ."

"My place is here," Harris said. "I'm a soldier – I can help."

Sandra smiled slightly – he reminded her of an eager puppy – then shook her head. His very eagerness spoke of his ignorance, and the last thing they needed was an over-eager rookie. "No, sir," she said, "you'll take your team back through the 'gate and report back to General Hammond."

Harris nodded his head – although he outranked Sandra, Colonel O'Neill outranked him. And he wouldn't be half as forbearing as Sandra; he had far less patience with scientists than she did.

Weinstein appeared with Felger and one of the other scientists – a middle-aged man with overlong mousy hair, glasses and a permanently worried expression. "Lieutenant; I've got two more," he said unnecessarily.

"Okay; two down, three to go," Sandra muttered. "Corporal; escort these two to the 'gate. And if they do anything that pisses you off, zat them."

Weinstein grinned slightly. "Yes, sir!" he said.

"Harris to Nickson; come in." Harris smacked his radio against the table. "Harris to Nickson; come in."

"Uh … Major, he's probably turned it off," Felger offered.

"Of course," Harris replied resignedly.

"Say what?" Sandra exploded. She parked herself in front of Felger. "Whose dumb-ass idea was that?"

The unfortunate Felger looked at her exactly like a deer trapped in headlights would. "He didn't want to be disturbed," he said lamely.

"Didn't want to be …?" Sandra realized her voice was close to super-sonic and growled. "I'll show him disturbed," she added threateningly.

She tugged her cap more firmly onto her head, grabbed her backpack and checked the magazine on her P90 was locked and loaded. Satisfied that she was prepared, she nodded to Kinsey who had just entered, shepherding two more scientists. "Kinsey; finish up here, then get these people to the 'gate. I've got a little lost lamb to find."

She marched out of the tent, but could clearly hear Felger say, "Nickson's gonna wish he was lost when she catches up with him."

* * *

Jack ringed back down into the Tok'ra tunnels, and skipped neatly out of the way as two men rushed past him with a large chest.

He headed for the main computer center and began powering it down. He'd spent enough time on Goa'uld vessels to have learned that much. His radio buzzed. "_Ryan to O'Neill; come in._"

"O'Neill here," he said.

"_Don't suppose you've seen a tech on your travels, sir?_" she asked. "_Nickson's wandered off and he's ditched his radio._"

Jack mused on that irony, but said, "No, but I'll keep an eye open for him."

"_Thanks, fly-boy. Ryan out._"

The last of the computers powered down, he looked around for someone to help him shift them. "May I offer my services, Colonel?" Timan's host offered.

"Yeah, great." Jack couldn't be bothered to indulge in a fight. He looked at the Tok'ra as they worked, and it occurred to him that he was just a kid. "So; how long you been a Tok'ra, son?"

The Tok'ra looked at him, bewildered. "Son?" he said. "I'm not your son, Colonel."

Jack grinned slightly. "In lieu of a name," he explained.

"I … see," the young man said. "I am Solen, and I have been a host to Timan for twelve turns; since I was a youth." Solen wrestled some machinery into a box and smiled at Jack. "I suppose you cannot understand why anyone would choose to become Tok'ra."

Jack had been able to understand Jacob blending with Selmak – for him, it had been either that or death – but … "You're so young," he said. "What about all the usual things that men your age experience?" All the interesting things in Jack's life hadn't happened until after the age of about 15.

"I have no regrets, Colonel," Solen said. He smiled. "Especially now that Sirena and I have become betrothed."

Jack flashed on the little dark-haired Tok'ra female who'd shown him around the complex – a lovely little package he couldn't help flirting with – and suddenly understood Solen's hostility toward him. "Congratulations," he said.

Solen smiled. "Thank you, Colonel," he said.

* * *

"I'm going to hurt him so bad," Sandra muttered, taking out her radio and trying Nickson's frequency once more. "Ryan to Nickson; come in."

Still no response.

Sandra sighed and envisioned Nickson paté. Nickson shish-kebob. "Dead meat on a stick." She was so busy envisioning Nickson-on-a-stick that she didn't see the large root lying in her path.

She crashed to the ground, rolling to absorb the impact, and gasped as her left knee shrieked in agony. "Nuts," she muttered, dusting off her cap and settling it back onto her head. Good thing Jack hadn't been with her – he'd never let her forget it.

"Lieutenant," someone said weakly.

She shot to her feet, ignoring the protests of her knee, and pointed her P90 in the direction of the voice.

To her horror, she saw Nickson lying there, his body half eaten away by … something. Little white maggots were having a fiesta in the exposed flesh, and her stomach churned. "Geez," she said, kneeling down next to him and pulling out her first aid kit.

Not for the first time; she found herself wishing she'd cross-trained as a medic. She poured alcohol onto a sterile cloth. "Brace yourself, Nickson; this is gonna hurt," she said, and pressed the cloth to his face.

He didn't react, and she looked into his blank eyes. Either he was deep in shock, which meant he could die, or his face was becoming gangrenous. Which also meant he could die.

His hand closed over hers. "Lieutenant? I can't … I can't see," he said faintly. "Will you … don't leave me!"

"I won't," Sandra said grimly.

"I'm not afraid," Nickson said, "but I don't want to be alone."

Sandra flashed back a year earlier. Mike Stevens had died alone; terrified and broken. Her stomach churned. She hadn't been able to do anything for Stevens, but she could for Nickson. If she had the will. She squeezed his hand then put it gently on his chest.

"Lieutenant." Nickson pushed a St. Christopher medal into her hand. "I'd like you to have it. It's been my … lucky charm for years." Amazingly, he managed a rueful laugh. "Guess even a saint only has so much luck to give, huh?"

She cursed silently. A Catholic. And no priest around for the last rites. She closed her hand around the charm. "I'll wear it with pride," she said, slipping the charm around her neck.

"Where are you?" Nickson whispered. "It's … so quiet!"

Bracing herself and murmuring a quiet Hail Mary, Sandra knelt over Nickson's supine form. She put a gentle finger on his lips. "Ssshh," she murmured. With a quick move, she twisted his neck; it gave an audible _crack_ as his vertebrae snapped, then his head slumped forward onto his chest.

She put her hand to his neck. No pulse. "Rest in peace," she murmured, dredging up her schoolgirl Latin.

Then she skittered away and was violently sick, heaving until she was completely empty. She uncapped her flask with shaking hands and took a swallow of the water.

Her radio squawked. "_O'Neill to Ryan; come in._"

Geez, not now! Sandra was tempted to smash the radio, but knew she had a job to do. She'd have to indulge her feelings later. She activated the unit. "Ryan here," she said hoarsely.

"_Any luck finding Nickson?_"

"He's dead, sir." Amazing how matter of fact she sounded about it, considering she was the one who'd killed him. The analytical part of her brain told her she was in shock, but she shut it up with a frown.

"_Oh, geez; I'm sorry, kid_," O'Neill said. "_You'd better get back to base – there's a lot of work still to be done._"

Sandra frowned. "Yes, sir," she said, her own voice sounding harsh to her ears.

* * *

"Dead?" Major Harris sat down heavily near the 'gate. "What do you mean?"

Jack could sympathize. He went through this every time he lost a man. "Ryan didn't go into detail," he said. He nodded to Carter. "Dial home," he added.

Carter nodded then began to push the symbols on the DHD. She pressed the center panel that activated the wormhole then tapped rapidly into Harris's GDO.

"Major," Jack said not unkindly to Harris, "it's time to go home."

A veil came down over Harris's eyes – one that reminded Jack of the one Daniel sometimes wore – and he got up. "Yes, sir," he said. He gathered his team and ushered them up the steps to where the event horizon shimmered. "Good luck, Colonel," he added, following his people into the wormhole.

Jack tugged at the brim of his cap then headed away from the DHD. "Come on, kids; back to work."

As they made their way over the dunes, he was relieved to see Sandra's petite form making a beeline for him. He'd been worried by her tone when she'd reported Nickson's death – maybe he'd try to get her to talk about it.

He grimaced at the idea. Special Forces service had left him with a great deal he wasn't willing to talk about, and he was naturally closed-mouth. Sandra had her own defenses, and he respected her too much to push her.

"Colonel," she said as stoically as his favorite Jaffa. "Has SG-8 gone back?"

"Not willingly, but yes," Jack said, his stomach clenching at the anguish in her big gray eyes. What the hell had she found with Nickson? "You scientist geeks are a lot tougher than you look."

At his lame crack, she offered an equally lame smile. "Funny, fly-boy," she muttered. "Memo to me; kick Colonel O'Neill's ass when we get back to Earth."

"So, where are your two jarheads?" Jack asked, relieved to see the mischievous glint back in her eyes.

"Sent them on to the Tok'ra base, sir," she said. She chuckled slightly. "They've pretty much behaved themselves since I demonstrated my skill with a P90."

"I'll bet," Jack commented. She was one of the best sharpshooters he'd ever seen – he'd like to see her in the range with Carter. He might actually have to bet against his 2IC.

* * *

Sandra stopped dead and Jack bumped straight into her. She didn't even stagger – definitely sturdier than she looked. "What's up, kid?" he asked.

She pointed to one of the Tok'ra tunnels that was rapidly … dissolving, and muttered something. "Chel'nocn." Now, why did that sound familiar?

"Indeed," Teal'c concurred with a tilted eyebrow. "You are familiar with my language?"

Sandra blinked. "Some," she said. "About six months ago, we spent a couple weeks with some Jaffa rebels. I guess I picked up some of their words."

"So; sharpshooter, engineer, Marine, linguist – is there anything you can't do?" Jack teased.

She blinked rapidly. "Plenty, sir," she said, another haunted look appearing in her eyes. "We all have our limits." She gestured vaguely toward the center chamber. "I'll get to work – there isn't much time before the snake-heads show."

"Sure thing, kid," Jack said, wondering what was going on behind that veil of calm. He touched her arm gently, unaware of his team's attention. "If you want to talk after this is over, I'm there for you," he said quietly.

A tear shimmered in her eye and she smiled. "You're a nice guy, fly-boy," she said, patting his hand. "I might just take you up on that – after this is over." She headed off for the control center, leaving a stunned Jack behind.

Damn. Colonel Jack O'Neill, Black Ops, General Wiseacre and All-Round Pain In The Mikta was falling for her.

He whipped off his Ray-Bans, stuck them in his breast pocket, and tried to ignore the raised eyebrows of Teal'c and Carter. "Move out," he said.

Carter snapped back the laugh she'd been about to indulge in. "Yes, sir!" she replied.

She and Teal'c moved rapidly away. _Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Colonel. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Welcome back, SG-1," Hammond said. "Report to the Infirmary. We'll debrief at 1600 hours."

"D'oh!" Sandra muttered, her hand flying up to where her eye patch should have been. Doctor Fraiser was going to kill her.

"What's up, kid?" Jack asked.

"Lost my patch," she said, grimacing at him.

Jack chuckled. "So, finally, someone else is gonna get it from the Napoleonic power-monger!" he said triumphantly.

"It's not funny, fly-boy," Sandra countered, although she knew he spent half his off duty time being lambasted by the small doctor. Janet Fraiser might be a half pint, but even Teal'c did not cross her.

They had spent a further thirty hours on 621 helping with the evacuation. They'd gotten out just in time, too. As Jack had urged Garshaw into the wormhole, the Death Gliders had begun making passes over the terrain. She sighed slightly.

"You okay, Ryan?"

Considering they'd only known each other a few days, it was surprising how well tuned he was to her moods. Then again, they'd been intense days – days that either formed bonds, or obliterated them.

"Peachy," she said. "I just hope they'll be all right."

"You really like 'em, huh, kid?" Jack said.

"Yeah, I do," she agreed, "especially Jacob and Yosuf. Hell, I even like Garshaw and Selmak – and that I wasn't expecting!"

"Well, we'll see them again soon enough," Jack reminded her. "Remember; we've been invited to Solen and Sirena's wedding."

"I'm glad they got together," Sandra said with a smile at her favorite fly-boy. "Anyway, we'd better get to the Infirmary; General Hammond's staring daggers at us."

* * *

**Same Day – 1800 hours:**

"SG-1, SG-8; you have a week's leave – effective immediately," Hammond said.

"General Hammond; I request permission to visit my wife and child," Teal'c said quickly.

_The big guy probably thinks I'm gonna take him fishing_, Jack mused.

"Of course, Teal'c," Hammond said. "I anticipated your request – you can leave now."

"Thank you." The Jaffa got up, dipped his head to everyone and left.

"Major; leave is for rest," the Texan said. "That means I don't want to see you on the base for the next week. Understood?"

Carter blushed and looked sheepish. "Understood, General," she said quietly. "I'll spend some time with Cassie."

_Alleluia!_, Jack cheered inwardly. Carter spent nearly all her leaves poking at machinery – the woman just didn't know when to quit.

After Carter and Hammond left, he smiled down at the mini Marine. "You know, kid; we're the only ones with no plans. You wanna come over to my place and watch the Simpsons' marathon?"

"Y-your place?" she stuttered, her eyes widening until they threatened to take over her whole face.

_D'oh! Take it slow, Jack!_ "Or your quarters," he amended quickly. Something a little less private for their first 'date' would be better.

She shook her head. "I don't have a VCR," she reminded him. "What time d'you want me?"

Jack clamped down on the wiseacre response that sprang to his lips. "No time like the present," he said.

"Make it a half hour," she said. "Give me time to change into my civvies."

"Okay," he said. "Half an hour."

The PA system blared into life. "_Colonel O'Neill; report to General Hammond._"

Sandra grinned. "You're being paged," she said. "Better make it an hour."

"Yeah," he said. "See you soon."

He touched her hair lightly, then sauntered out of the briefing room and over to his CO's office. He knocked on the door. "Come in," Hammond said.

"You wanted to see me, General?"

"Have a seat, son," General Hammond grumbled. He probably wanted to watch The Simpsons, too. "What's this transfer request? Is Lieutenant Ryan not working out?"

"Uh …". Jack knew he'd have to explain, but he hadn't expected to feel so damn stupid. But he certainly didn't want Hammond to think she was incompetent. "We're … attracted to each other, sir," he blurted out.

Not a flicker passed over Hammond's face – he may as well have been carved from marble for all the reaction he gave. "Go on, son," he said.

"We want to pursue it," Jack continued, finding it much easier now the initial declaration had been made. "But regulations …"

"Of course," Hammond said. "You did the right thing, Jack. Request approved. She can stay with SG-8 – Major Harris was very impressed with her during your mission to 621."

"Thanks," Jack said.

"Any plans for your down-time?" Hammond asked, moving from CO mode to grandfather mode.

"Goin' fishin'," Jack decided jauntily. "That's probably why T left so quickly."

Hammond's lips twitched. "It's very likely," he said. "Now, get the hell out of here!"

* * *

As his 2IC left the office, General George S. Hammond allowed the twitch to become a smile. Despite the man's antics, he was a good officer and a good friend. He pulled out Lieutenant Ryan's file and signed the transfer orders.

Secretly a matchmaker at heart, he saw no reason why Jack and the lovely young woman should not pursue a relationship. Hammond had been impressed with the way she'd handled Jack's mulish attitude, but had not realized their mock-antagonism would develop thus.

Despite his easy-going manner and charm, the Colonel was a lonely man. His marriage had collapsed shortly after Charlie's death, and although he'd built a surrogate family with his team, it was not the same. Since Doctor Jackson's death, Jack had retreated behind bad jokes and sarcasm, burying a world of pain.

He sighed and opened another file. A General's work was never done, he mused wryly.

* * *

Sandra started at the knock on her door. She couldn't believe how nervous she was! Her hands shaking, she gave up on her hair and stuck her tongue out at her reflection. "Come in," she said, her voice thankfully not betraying her nerves.

The door opened and Jack entered wearing jeans and a black sweater and carrying a leather jacket. _Nice._ "Hey," he said. "You look good." He touched her hair gently. "It looks nice loose."

"Thanks," she said. "You look good too." She swung a light jacket onto her shoulders. "Ready when you are, sir."

"Jack," Jack said. "We're not on duty now."

"Jack," she said, realizing the absurdity of calling her … boyfriend? … no; date! … 'sir'.

Jack grinned. "Better," he said. He held open the door for her. "After you, my lady."

She dipped a quick curtsy. "Thank you, kind sir," she said.

* * *

As they left the base, she shivered. She'd forgotten how cold Colorado Springs could get this time of the year. "Geez," she muttered, rubbing her hands up and down her chilled arms. "How far is it to your truck?"

"'Bout a quarter of a mile," Jack said cheerily – of course he'd be cheerful; he was wearing a leather jacket and a sweater. He looked down at her. "Cold?"

"Who, me?" she said, her teeth chattering. Eighteen years in Monte Carlo, two in DC, and three on the _Farragut_ had left her unprepared for the sheer cold of this part of the North. "No; I just like blue."

He chuckled then slung a friendly arm around her shoulders. "Don't want you turning into a Sandra popsicle," he said.

Sandra liked this arrangement. His tall frame shielded her from the icy wind, and his after shave smelled wonderful – something light yet spicy. "Mmmm," she mumbled. "Thanks," she added, snaking her own arm around his waist. She had the feeling this was going to be a great evening.

* * *

Soda in hand, Sandra wandered around Jack's living room. Her eye was caught by a small photo frame near the stereo. She went over to it and studied it. A boy of about nine or ten with reddish hair and a cheeky grin – the resemblance to Jack was unmistakable.

He walked in from the kitchen, bearing a plate of fried chicken. "Cute kid," she said, gesturing toward the laughing pre-teen. "Any relation?"

Pain flashed into his velvety eyes before the shutters slammed down. "My son – Charlie," he said.

Sandra had the feeling she'd touched on a sore spot – the ex-wife had probably gotten custody. "He looks a lot like you," she said.

Jack nodded his head with a tight smile. "Yeah; most people said that," he commented.

'Said', not 'say'. Sandra was not stupid and knew Jack was hiding something really painful. So was she, so she knew he could not be cajoled into talking about it. "That smells great," she said instead. "I'm famished!"

"I'm making the most of it," Jack said. "Ol' Doc Fraiser's putting me on a diet next week," he grumbled.

Sandra raised an eyebrow. To her admittedly inexperienced eyes, he seemed in fine shape. "Why?" she asked. "There's nothing wrong with you."

Jack grinned. "Thanks," he said. "Unfortunately, I'm at that danger age, so I gotta cut back on meats and fat."

"It comes to us all," Sandra said. "But I can't see you ever being fat. You're not built that way." She sat down at the table and he followed suit. She eyed him appreciatively as he put some chicken on a plate and grudgingly added salad. He'd ditched the sweater as the house had warmed up, and the faded tee shirt showed off a lovely pair of arms. Not as big as Teal'c's arms, they were nevertheless well muscled and deeply tanned.

Mmmm. She was now getting rather warm herself. She tugged off her own sweater to reveal a rather battered brown tee shirt bearing the inscription "I'll Be Nicer If You Feed Me Chocolate".

Jack gestured to the tee shirt. "Aha! I knew you'd have a weakness! Chocolate!"

Sandra laughed. "Total addict," she confessed ruefully.

"Well, I happen to have a tub of Rocky Road," Jack said. "Should go perfectly with fried chicken and the wisdom of Homer."

"Mmmm, ice creeeeeeeem," she intoned in her best Homer impression – which wasn't very good. She was better at Bart.

* * *

Jack caught his breath as Sandra got up from the table. Petite she might be, but she had a lovely figure. There was something about BDUs – "one size fits all or else!" – that made even the most feminine of women look like boys.

The jeans and faded tee shirt showed off her slim yet rounded figure – he knew not by design – and the lights glinted off her soft blonde hair in a most lovely way. He cleared his throat. If he didn't distract himself, he was going to say something stupid and scare her off.

"Hey, kid; make yourself useful! Rewind the tape while I do the dishes," he said, clutching at the housework like a lifeline.

"Oh no you don't, fly-boy!" she said, putting her hands on her hips. "You cooked; I'll clean up."

"Uh …". Jack thought of the disaster zone that was his kitchen. He'd probably have to call in a SWAT team.

Too late. She'd grabbed the plates and headed for the kitchen. "Holy shit," she blurted out. "Geez; I guess that's what I get for volunteering."

He followed her in and cringed, seeing it through her eyes. "I wash, you dry?" he said.

She squared her slight shoulders. "I'm glad I never got suckered with KP on the _Farragut_," she said, shaking her head. The soft locks danced around her waist and Jack followed their course with an almost hypnotized fascination.

"Yo, anyone home?" she said, clicking her fingers in front of his face. She thrust a towel into his hands. "I'll wash, you dry then we'll call out the SWAT team for this bomb-site."

* * *

Less than an hour later, the kitchen was pristine. Once they'd gotten into a rhythm, it hadn't been as bad as it looked at first glance.

Sandra pushed some hair out of her eyes, wishing she'd gotten it cut. She spent most of her time with it tucked up anyway, due to regs.

She headed over to the freezer and dug out the quart of Rocky Road almost by instinct. She sometimes wondered if she had an antenna for chocolate.

Ice cream in hand, she wandered back into the living room. "Ice cream!" she announced brightly.

Jack smiled at her. "Well, you're definitely the prettiest Good Humor man I've ever seen," he said.

Sandra chuckled and sat down near him on the big leather couch. Although she figured they both had some Irish way back when, Jack's showed a lot more – especially his line of BS.

She gave him a spoon then gestured at him with her own. "Roll 'em!"

Jack aimed a little salute at her. "Yes, ma'am!" he responded.

* * *

During the course of the marathon Jack noticed that Sandra was getting closer to him. Wisely he stayed put, knowing that the next move had to be hers.

They'd demolished the tub of Rocky Road several hours earlier and had then fallen into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by laughter induced by Homer and the gang. Now she was leaning against him, her slender legs curled up on the couch.

He looked down at her. She was asleep, the little worry lines smoothed away, and looking about twelve years old. He smiled – he didn't have the heart to wake her, so he shifted carefully, put an arm around her, and let her head rest on his chest.

As she slept her head slipped lower and lower until it was finally resting on his abdomen. He'd never seen anyone above the age of about five sleep like that. She was literally curled up in a ball. If Jack believed in that Freudian mumbo-jumbo, he would've thought she was trying to protect herself.

Suddenly she gasped and sat bolt upright, eyes wide. "Hey there, Sleeping Beauty," he said wryly.

She gazed at him blankly, her eyes still sleep-fogged, then the mists cleared. "Hey," she replied, her skin now an interesting pink. "I … uh … I didn't … did I fall asleep on you?"

"Yeah," he said, "but at least you don't drool."

She went red and scrubbed her hands over her face. "Uh, I think I'd better get back to base," she said. "I must be tireder than I realized."

"Kid; we're off duty for the next week," he said. He got up and stretched his long frame, regretting the absence of her slim body next to him. He could easily have stayed there a while longer. "Come on; I'll take you home."

"I live on the base," she said. "I'm saving up a deposit for an apartment, but it'll be a while yet." She smiled up at him. "A Lieutenant doesn't earn as much as a Colonel, you know."

"Yeah," he replied, although it was rather sad to think of this lively young woman living in barracks. "I'll just grab my keys then I'll drive you back to base."

"Okay," she said, her eyes downcast.

Jack went out into the hallway and got his keys, wishing the evening didn't have to end. But he knew she was more tired than she let on. She'd only slept for one night during the mission – the same night she'd flashed back to her stepfather.

Her stepfather. Was that why she was so keen to get out of here? Had he crossed over some line?

He walked back into the living room and found her curled up on the couch, asleep once more. So much for taking her back to base. Putting the keys on an end table, he put his hands around her then scooped her up into his arms, surprised at her lightness.

Then he took her up into the spare bedroom, laid her down on the bed and removed her boots. He pulled the covers over her and smiled down at her. "Night," he said softly, kissing her forehead.

* * *

Jack shot up in bed, his hair pointing stupidly in every compass direction, as an agonized keening penetrated his dreams. "Huh?" he croaked.

"No …," came from the spare bedroom.

He flung back the covers and headed for his favorite jarhead. He went into the room and snapped on the lamp. She was stretched out to her fullest length, her limbs so taut they looked like they could snap.

His stomach twisted at his violation of her privacy. She was in the throes of some personal torment he had no right to witness. With more sensitivity than anyone would have credited him with, he looked for a way to wake her up quietly.

"No!" The whimper was barely human anymore. She was about to break. The hell with waking her quietly.

He set his jaw then deliberately crashed his shin into the bedside table, sending the lamp flying. "Holy sh …," he hissed. Who knew it would hurt this much?

She sat bolt upright. "Wha …?" She dug her fists into her eyes. "Hey, fly-boy," she said.

"Sorry," he said. "Just wanted to make sure you were warm enough." _Slick, O'Neill, real smooth._ He gestured vaguely toward the door. "Uh, I'll let you get back to sleep. I'll drive you back to base in the morning."

She went pink. "Was I … uhm … talking?" she asked.

"No; actually, you were quiet for once," he shot back, relieved to see the horror drain from her eyes.

She put her tongue out at him. "Now, why don't I believe you, fly-boy?" she said. "You lie very poorly."

"Hey!" He was Special Forces trained – he could lie to anyone, even himself. "Well, I'll let you go back to sleep," he added.

She grabbed his arm. "I … uh … I think I need to talk," she said. "About … 621."

So, not her stepfather! He sat down on the bed, ignoring the fact that he was only in tee shirt and shorts, and put his arm around her. "I'm listening, kid," he invited.

* * *

Silence stretched between them as Sandra reached the end of what had happened to poor Nickson. She stared up into Jack's soft brown eyes, trying to get a bead on what he was thinking. "Jack?" she said, hating the quaver in her voice.

"Oh, geez; you poor kid." He scooped her up and settled her into his lap. "It's okay," he soothed, circling a hand on her back.

She bit her lip – she wasn't going to cry. Marines didn't cry – they were the best. A tear leaked out. "Oh, crap," she said, then buried her head into his chest. She cried. For Nickson. For Mike Stevens. For herself. For Gabe.

She had no idea how long she'd been sitting there, sobbing and mumbling, but she became aware of a milk truck rattling its way into the quiet street. She pulled away from Jack, feeling herself go pink. Geez; some date she was! "Uhm … sorry," she said, wiping her hands over her eyes.

He shook his head, then produced a tissue and blotted her face. "It's okay," he said, then lifted her up and placed her on the bed. "You think you can sleep now?" he added.

She shook her head. "I'm not tired now," she said, putting a hand to her stomach. "But I am hungry." She squinted over at the clock. 0700. That was later than she'd woken up in six years! "I could go for some bacon," she said. Bacon was the one thing she could actually cook well. "You want some?"

"Yeah, sure!" he said then looked down, only now seeming to realize he was half dressed. "Uh, why don't you use the shower? I'll put your stuff through the laundry."

Was that a subtle hint that she smelled? She tugged at the over-ripe tee shirt. "I could use a shower," she admitted.

Jack attempted to raise one eyebrow, a la Teal'c, and failed. "Indeed," he intoned in Teal'c's deep baritone.

She put her tongue out at him.

"There's a spare robe in the closet," he continued. "It'll be a bit big, but it'll do. And there are towels in the bathroom. Help yourself."

She got off the bed and headed for the closet, amazed at how comfortable she felt around him. There was just … something about him; something so warm and giving.

Robe in hand, she crossed over to him and put her hand on his cheek. "You have no idea how special you are, do you?" she said.

His hand came up and clasped hers. "I think you're over-estimating me," he said. "It's a dangerous habit putting people up on pedestals. You'll only get hurt when they fall off."

She bristled. "I'm not a kid, Jack," she said. "I know your flaws. You're arrogant, cocky, sarcastic, play dumb far too often …"

"That's enough," he said wryly. "Now, go get your shower, jarhead."

"Yo, sir!" she said.

He bent his head to hers … she closed her eyes … and he kissed her on the forehead!

She gave a muffled scream and stomped off to the bathroom. The man was a jackass! A stubborn, blind, pigheaded Irish jackass!

* * *

Half an hour later, she pattered down to the kitchen, swallowed up by the bathrobe. "Hey," she said to Jack, who was sitting at the table, chuckling at the funnies. He'd evidently showered also – his hair was damp and stuck up in endearing spikes.

"Hey," he said, looking up. The laughter in his eyes spread all over his face. "You look like a kid playing dress-up," he said.

"Yeah? Well, you look like an electrocuted porcupine," she shot back, matching his evil grin. She wasn't sensitive about her height – or lack thereof. Now, her butt … that was a different matter.

He swept a hand through his hair, attempting to smooth the unruly spikes. "You want some coffee, kid?" he asked.

Sandra was pretty sure her eyes lit up like a pinball machine. "Uh-huh," she said. She sat up as the heavenly smell of Java hit her nostrils. For the last six years she'd subsisted on commissary sludge or instant. "Ah, sweet beans of delight!" she said, taking a moment to make the reverence to the source of all life.

Then she took a sip. "Now, this is coffee!" she said. Black and strong enough to walk away under its own power.

She took another sip then pattered over to the refrigerator. She pulled out a pack of bacon and began working swiftly – she really was hungry, even by her standards.

* * *

Jack had forgotten how nice it was to spend an ordinary Sunday morning reading in the kitchen. His favorite jarhead bobbed up and down in front of the grill pan to whatever song was playing in her head, while the delicious smell of grilled bacon filled the room.

She'd kill him if he said it, but she looked really cute bundled up in his spare robe. Maybe it was a cliché – and God knows he hated those – but she looked like such a defenseless waif.

"Yo, fly-boy; chow's up," she said, laying a plate in front of him. Bacon, tomatoes, hash browns, scrambled eggs and coffee. A real, honest-to-goodness heart attack breakfast.

"Looks good," he said.

"Well, don't sit there like a bump on a log," she said, her accent thickening. "Dig in."

He 'dug in' per orders and found every last morsel delicious, even though it was grilled and not fried. If he was the suspicious type, he'd have suspected she was in league with ol' Doc Fraiser.

"So, kid," he said, putting down his fork with regret, "you got any plans for your down-time?"

"Uh-huh," she said. "Hire a car and go down to Minnesota. The bass'll be jumpin' this time of …". Her voice trailed off. "Sorry," she said. "I tend to forget other people aren't into fishing."

Fishing? Could this jarhead be any more perfect? "I've got a cabin there," he said. "I was planning on heading down there. If you don't mind me breathing down your neck for the next six days, you could stay at my place."

Her eyes widened and he plowed on. "There's a spare room, and it'll be impossible to find a good hotel at such short notice. The only places available will be roach motels."

She went red and played thoughtfully with her fork. He went red on his own part. Geez; they'd only had the one date and already he was asking her to go away with him! "No monkey business," he said, holding up his hands. "No pressure."

"I'll go with you," she said quietly.

He'd opened his mouth to withdraw the offer when he caught her acquiescence. "You … will?" he said.

"I will," she said, mocking him gently, "but don't make promises neither of us want you to keep."

_Huh?_

"I mean it," she added. "I'm not some fragile little waif who needs your protection." She went red then blurted out, "You make me feel … things I've never felt. Let's … just see what happens, huh? Six days is a long time." She got up. "Anyway, I'm gonna go get changed."

She whipped quickly out of the kitchen, leaving Colonel Jack O'Neill stunned.

_Huh?_

* * *

Sandra retrieved her clothes from the tumble dryer including – ye gods! – her bra and briefs then hurried up the stairs before she could chicken out.

Was she nuts? She didn't know. But what she'd said to her favorite fly-boy was perfectly true. She really was attracted to him, and she did want to spend more time with him. And after they went back to work, God only knew when their down-time would coincide again.

Maybe things were happening awfully fast, but she had a lot of lost time to make up. Damned if she was going to let her memories rule her life any more. "I gotta lotta livin' to do, and I'm gonna do it," she murmured.

She scuttled quickly into the master bedroom and stole some of Jack's deodorant – naturally, she hadn't brought any with her. Then she flew back into the guest room and dressed hurriedly, wishing she had her hair clip with her.

She went back downstairs and saw that Jack had an overnight bag packed. "Whoa; fast worker," she said, then heard the comment after she'd said it. It seemed her mouth was in 'drive' while her brain was still stuck in 'neutral'.

His slow smile told her he'd caught her innocent double entendre, but he chose not to call her on it, for which she was thankful. She'd blushed more in the last five days than she'd done her whole life!

"Right, Goldilocks; let's get you to the base so you can grab your stuff," he said instead.

"Yeah; good idea," she responded absently, admiring the way his jeans fit across his butt when he bent over to pick up his bag. _Whoa!_ She slapped herself mentally. _Focus, Ryan_, she thought. _You're a Marine – we're the best._

She headed out of the house then waited at the truck for Jack to unlock the door. He came along shortly and ushered her into the passenger seat, slinging his bag into the back seat.

It was only 0800, so the traffic was still fairly light. Therefore, Jack made good time along the interstate, and they reached Cheyenne Mountain less than an hour later.

"I'll wait for you here," Jack said.

No point in feeding the rumor mill, Sandra realized – it was healthy enough already. "Okay," she said and hopped out of the truck.

She passed through the gauntlet of security guards then made her way to the elevator. As she got in, she saw Jonas Quinn with a pile of books under his arm and an abstracted expression in his eyes. "Geez; don't you ever leave the base?" she said.

The Kelownan smiled ruefully. "I haven't been given clearance yet," he said. "How was the mission to 621? We weren't expecting you back so soon."

"Yeah; the snake-heads kinda chucked a spanner in the works," Sandra said, surprised at how … human he seemed. Well, he was human, but he was also an alien, like Teal'c.

"Snake-heads? Oh, the Goa'uld," Jonas said. "I've been reading some of Doctor Jackson's notes about them."

"So; what d'you think?" Sandra said.

He flashed another rueful grin at her. "I know enough now to be relieved Doctor Jackson destroyed the naquadria experiments," he said. "I don't think I fancy my world being taken over by the Goa'uld."

"Right back at ya," Sandra said, surprised to find herself liking the young Kelownan. He reminded her somewhat of a plebe – bumbling, clueless, yet rarin' to go. _Well, maybe he'll get a chance one day, she mused. They can't keep him locked up here forever._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Six hours later, and Colonel Jack O'Neill was deeply regretting his offer to let Sandra drive. While he was a bit of a speed demon himself, the mini Marine drove like she did everything.

After she zipped over a bridge without once touching the ground, he decided to say something. "I didn't know you'd trained as a pilot, kid."

"Huh?" She turned and frowned at him while beating a light tattoo on the steering wheel.

"You're going a bit fast," he explained.

"I'm only doing … Whoa! This truck goes like crap off a shovel, doesn't it?"

"It certainly does with you behind the wheel," he said dryly.

She wrinkled her nose at him, but didn't respond. She did at least slow to sub-sonic, for which he was grateful.

On the road again … da, da, da, da, da, da, da, road again," she sang. "Join in, fly-boy."

"I don't know da, da, da, da, road again," he replied with a grin.

"Funny man," she groused, but fell silent.

Now she'd slowed down – a little – he was able to see that her hands were competent on the wheel, and while she drove fast, she wasn't reckless.

He sat back and examined the scenery – both outside and inside the truck. As he did, he was reminded of the road trips he'd gone as a kid. His father had been determined to get in as many miles as possible – Jack was eight years old before he learned cows weren't blurry.

* * *

As the powerful truck ate up the miles, Sandra hummed along with the rendition of Nirvana's 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' currently playing through her mind.

Her stomach rumbled. "Hungry," she announced, peering out through the rain for a diner. Surely there had to be one somewhere. They weren't that far out into the boonies!

"That's a shocker," Jack mumbled.

"Check out who woke up from his little siesta," Sandra said, ignoring the jab about her appetite. Yes, she could pack it away, but she had an active life, for crying out loud! "Go back to sleep," she said. "I'll wake you when I find food."

He closed his eyes and she smiled. He'd had about as much sleep on 621 as she'd had. He was more used to planet-lag than she as, but he'd zonked out a couple hours into the second leg of their journey.

He looked younger when he was asleep, the furrow between his brows smoother and his long frame relaxed. He almost looked … innocent in this pose.

One of his eyes snapped open. "What?" he said.

Geez; did the guy ever relax? "Just watching you sleep," she said, still searching in vain for a Starbucks or something.

"Oh-kay." He appeared startled. "Quite what you see in a face mashed into a cushion and drooling, I don't know."

She chuckled. "Oh, you're not that bad, fly-boy," she said, pushing an errant strand of hair off his forehead. "Wow, your hair's so soft – what conditioner d'you use?"

"If you think I'm gonna talk about hair, you got another think coming," he muttered.

She was beginning to find the Cyclopean gaze unsettling, and was glad when he opened the other eye. "What's the matter, kid?" he asked suddenly.

"Nothing," she said, startled.

"Come off it," he said. "You don't usually chatter on about inanities. Are you nervous?"

Damn the man – how did he read her so easily? She smiled at him. "Maybe a bit," she confessed. "This" – she waved her hand between them – "is pretty new to me."

He sat up and put a warm hand on her cheek. "Like I said this morning; no pressure. And I meant it."

* * *

**Day One:**

"Hey, knock it off, jarhead!" Jack hollered from his bedroom.

Sandra chuckled and immersed her head in the water once more. It was their first full day at Jack's cabin, and she was raring to go. "Don't you like my singing, Colonel?" she inquired innocently.

"Not at …". There was a short silence. "It's four thirty in the fricking morning!" he yelled.

Whoops. "I'll crank it down in that case," she said.

"Never mind," Jack said rather more quietly. "Sleep's for losers. You up for some early morning fishing?"

"You know it," she said, stepping out of the shower and wrapping one of the giant towels around her. She grabbed a smaller towel and began to rub vigorously at her hair.

Suddenly she felt dizzy. "Whoa …," she breathed as the world faded out.

It faded back in and she found herself in a large chamber – like a bridge – staring at a small gray alien with huge black eyes. _Very Roswell_, she mused.

"Colonel … O'Neill?" the alien said.

"Nope," Sandra said. "Wait a minute; you're one of the Asgard, aren't you?"

The alien tilted his/her head. "Indeed. Then you work with General Hammond."

Sandra nodded her own head. "Is this your ship?"

"It is," the alien said. "I apologize for transporting you against your will."

"That's … okay," Sandra said.

"If you will please take a seat, I will bring O'Neill aboard," the Asgard said. He/she waved a spindly hand to one of the seats.

She sat down in it. It was a little small, but not uncomfortably so, and the Asgard smiled. "Humans are generally much bigger than the Asgard," he/she said. "You appear atypical for your species."

"Yeah; I'm pretty short for an adult," she agreed, tightening the towel around her. It was pretty obvious that the Asgard had no idea that beaming humans onto a ship in only a towel wasn't the norm. "My name's Sandra Ryan, by the way."

The Asgard dipped his/her head toward her. "I am Loki," it returned.

Loki! The Norse trickster god! Maybe her beam-up wasn't an accident after all.

Loki manipulated his controls – there was a flash and Jack appeared, still in his tee shirt and shorts. "Geez," he said, scrubbing his face.

Sandra grinned and leaned over to Loki. "He's not at his best this time of day," she said. "Speak slowly and use little words."

A flash of mischief appeared in Loki's eyes then he addressed himself to Jack. "You are Colonel O'Neill?" he said.

"Yeah," Jack said then an eager look sprang to his eyes. "Any news about Thor?"

"Thor's condition is unchanged at present," Loki said. "I … apologize for bringing you here so precipitously, but you told Heimdall that you wished regular updates."

"Yeah; thanks," Jack said. He glanced over at Sandra and his eyes darkened. "Uh; you know I love you little gray guys and gals, but it's not normal for humans to be on a ship dressed like this."

"Again; I apologize," Loki said. "You are the first humans I have encountered and I do not know your customs."

"Bull," Sandra mumbled.

Both the Asgard and Jack turned to her. "I … beg your pardon?" Loki said.

"Jack; meet Loki – the Norse trickster god," she said. "Known also as Coyote and Prometheus."

Loki dipped his head to her. "I am known by many names, Sandra," he said. "This was a poor joke on my part, but I have to get my laughs in where I can."

_Idiomatic, too. Good Lord on a bicycle._ "It's okay," Sandra said, a helpless grin lighting up her face. She could get to like this little guy. "But it's a bit breezy on this ship … where are we, anyway?"

"We are in orbit above your planet," he said.

"Aren't you worried that NORAD will find you?" Sandra asked.

"They have never detected the Asgard's presence before," he said.

"Some sort of cloaking technology," Sandra mumbled, her engineer's interest piqued.

"Now that I have updated you on Supreme Commander Thor's condition, I must return to Othalla. The battle against the Replicators does not go well."

"Well … don't be a stranger, Loki," Jack said; he'd woken up with a vengeance.

"Oh, you will see me again, Colonel O'Neill, Sandra Ryan," Loki said. "I bid you farewell."

The world went black once more then Sandra and Jack found themselves standing in the living room of his cabin. "Whoa …," Sandra mumbled.

"Yeah," Jack agreed. "They have a habit of doing that. Just be grateful we weren't bare-ass naked."

"Right," Sandra muttered. She wouldn't have minded a glimpse of Jack's butt – tight and firm as it was – but she hated her own ass.

"I wouldn't have minded a glimpse of your butt, though," Jack teased – for some reason, he liked her ass.

"You're a strange man, Jack O'Neill," she told him through a yawn. She stretched. "Anyway; I'd better go get dressed."

"Right," he said hoarsely, his eyes fixed firmly south of her chin.

She looked down, flushing as she saw the towel had slipped, leaving the tops of her full breasts bare to Jack's heated brown gaze. Another body part he seemed to like, she realized, tugging the towel upward. "Put the coffee on, will ya?" she said and headed quickly out of the living room.

* * *

Loki mused on the humans as he left Earth's orbit and opened a hyperspace window. He had not been present for his people's first meetings with this impetuous child race, but he had questioned the wisdom of allowing them to charge around their galaxy when they knew so little.

Now he found himself reluctantly impressed. O'Neill's mind had once contained the knowledge of the Ancients. It had nearly destroyed him, but he'd learned enough to adapt the Tauri Stargate to enable him to travel to the galaxy of Ida, where he could get help.

And the female – Sandra Ryan. By the standards of their young race, she was technologically gifted. It would not be long before she and others like her would begin to understand Asgard technology. Maybe they could become the fifth race … eventually.

* * *

**Day Two:**

She was freezing cold, soaked to the bone, and smelled like bait. She was having the greatest time! There was something about fishing that was just so … therapeutic.

She freed her latest catch, immune now to Jack's mournful gaze. "What's the point of fishin' if you don't keep the fish?" he asked.

"Oh, hush," she scolded him. "Pass me the coffee." She took her cup from his warm hands – how come he wasn't frozen? Then she recalled that he was from Chicago – the aptly-named Windy City.

She edged closer to him. "If I'm cold, you gotta be cold, too," she said.

He grinned at her. "Ah, you thin-blooded Southerners," he said. "Come here." He wrapped his arm around her. "Better?" he added.

"Much," she replied, enjoying the warmth of his tightly-muscled frame.

True to his word, he'd been a complete gentleman the last couple days – which was more than could be said for Loki! – and anything that happened between them had been initiated by her.

Not that much had happened, so far. She still wanted to go slow, but she had enjoyed the necking that they did last night. His lips could do far more than spout endless sarcasm.

Thunder rumbled across the sky. "Ah, phooey," she groused. "I suppose we'd better pack it up." She got up and folded up their stools while Jack packed the food and coffee.

They headed back into the house. "Geez; you reek, jarhead!" Jack complained, backing away from her rapidly.

"Yeah; you're not exactly a rosebed yourself, fly-boy," Sandra shot back. Funny she hadn't noticed it before. She dropped the chairs and dashed away, hollering, "Me first for the shower!"

"D'oh!" she could hear Jack mutter.

* * *

Jack smiled as Sandra's petite form disappeared along the hallway. He'd really enjoyed her company the last couple of days – she was by turns, fierce, funny, thoughtful. And – _Admit it, Jack!_ – he'd thoroughly enjoyed the necking on the couch last night.

Trouble was; he was having to fight the caveman instincts that made him want to cart her off to the bedroom. He raked a hand through his wet hair and went into the living room.

He chucked a couple logs onto the fire that had been glowing gently throughout the day, and the fire roared out, reducing his shivers. He went into the kitchen and put the oven on. "Hey, kid; how long does it take to get clean?" he called. "There's nothing of you!"

"Stow it, fly-boy!" she called back. "Heaven. I'm in heaven …," she sang.

With a grin, he headed to the sink and turned on the hot tap.

"Aaarghhh!" came the shriek from the bathroom as he turned the tap off again. "You rat. You're dead meat!"

The door flung open and she flew out of the bathroom in her toweling robe, her face flushed. "Dead meat," she repeated.

He whooped with laughter. She might be a Marine, she might be nearly half his age. But she was half his size and he'd had more training than her. "Oh, yeah?"

She body-checked him, sending him crashing to the ground. She put a knee on his stomach, leaned down and … dug her fingers into his rib cage, tickling for all she was worth!

He spluttered with laughter, trying to wriggle away from her busy little fingers. How did she know his most ticklish spots? Thank God he was still wearing his boots! He'd have been completely at her mercy – of which she had very little.

"Uncle!" he gasped, sitting up and pushing her off him.

She grinned a truly evil grin. "That'll teach you," she said, planting a kiss on his lips. "Now, go take your shower."

"Uh …," he said, not sure he could trust her.

"I've already gotten my revenge," she said. "Twice would be bad form. Besides, you reek."

* * *

Sandra went into the guest room and got dressed rapidly, listening to Jack belt out a painful rendition of 'Il Travatori'. And he had the nerve to diss her singing!

"Coffee," she muttered. _Give me coffee or give me death._ She combed out her unruly locks, wishing again that she'd remembered her blow-dryer. She scowled as she hit a particular bad tangle. That did it! As soon as she got back to Colorado Springs, she was getting it hacked off!

Hair tamed for now, clad in faded jeans and her favorite Homer tee shirt, she wandered to the kitchen and switched the percolator on. "Coffee?" she called.

He emerged from the bathroom dressed in khakis and a black tee shirt, rubbing at his hair with a towel. "Yeah, great," he said.

Lightning flashed and she started. She hated lightning. She grabbed two cups and filled them full of the steaming source of all life. "Mmmm," she mumbled.

"You really love coffee, huh?" Jack commented with a chuckle.

"You betcha," she said. "If I could take it intravenously, I would." She closed her eyes as the first jolt wound its way into her stomach. "Oh, yeah …," she said, "that's the stuff. Come to Momma." She opened her eyes. "So; what shall we have for tea?" she asked, tucking her hand through his arm and leading him to the cupboards.

The lightning flashed once more and she involuntarily clutched at his arm. "Whoa," she muttered.

"You okay, kid?" he asked.

"It's stupid," Sandra said, feeling herself go red. Such a dumb kid's phobia! "I … just … I've always hated storms." The thunder then crashed around the cabin, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around Jack's waist, burying her head in his chest.

He slid his own arms around her. "It's okay," he said, circling a hand round her back in that oddly soothing motion he'd used a couple days ago. "I'm sure it'll be over soon," he added.

* * *

_You lie, O'Neill!_, he scolded himself. By the looks of things, this storm was fixing to be around most of the night. But that was the last thing she needed to hear right now.

She lifted up her head and smiled up at him. "You know I don't believe you, right?" she said, her fresh color fading as a rafter-rattling rumble made itself known. "It's here for a while yet, isn't it?" she said, attempting a sardonic grin that missed by a mile.

"Looks like it," he admitted, putting his caveman firmly out of the house. She needed comfort right now, nothing else!

* * *

**Day Three:**

Jack watched as Sandra bounced out of the house ahead of him. "Funny how good things smell after a storm, isn't it?" she said, stretching her arms up to the sun.

She waited for him to catch her up then tucked her hand into his. "Gorgeous day," she commented.

"Yeah," he said, enjoying the softness of her hand against his larger one. It had been a long time since he'd just held hands with a pretty girl. _Stop it, O'Neill! You're not that old, for cryin' out loud!_

With his free hand, he checked the mailbox, but came up empty. "Nobody loves me," he muttered.

"Quit bellyaching," Sandra said, squeezing his hand. "Better than bills, isn't it?"

"Nobody loves me. Everybody rides me. I think I'll go eat worms," he complained with a grin.

"Aw, poor baby," Sandra cooed, kissing him on the cheek. "Is that better?"

He dropped a kiss onto her soft mouth. "Much," he said.

Her mouth curved up against his. "Hmmm," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into the embrace.

A piercing whistle broke the moment. "Yo, O'Neill! Nice going, buddy!"

Jack reluctantly stepped back from Sandra. "Kyle," he said with resignation. They'd served together for a long time, but Kyle had been invalided out after his back had been damaged. He hadn't wanted to fly a desk, so had gone into civilian life. "How's it going?"

"Pretty good," Kyle said with a grin. "I'd ask you the same thing, but I can see for myself."

Sandra gave a low moan and buried her head in Jack's chest. Even without looking at her, he knew she'd be bright red. "Behave," he growled at his old buddy. "Haven't you learned any manners from that wife of yours?"

"I can dress him up, Jack, but I can't take him anywhere," Anne Williams said, pressing a kiss to Jack's cheek. "Hello in there," she directed to Sandra, who was still hidden by Jack's chest.

A giggle came from Sandra and she stepped away from him. "I'm Sandra," she said.

"Anne," Anne returned. "And this lummox is my husband. Pay no attention to him – he's still a big stupid kid."

"Hey!" Kyle said, sounding injured.

"It's true," Jack grumbled with a grin. "And if I don't kick your ass, Sandra will."

"Uh-huh," Kyle said skeptically.

"Uh-huh," Sandra replied. "I'm a Marine, fella – we're the best."

"A Marine?" Kyle staggered dramatically. "O'Neill; a jarhead? Where's your loyalty?"

"Let me guess," Sandra said. "Air Force, right?"

"Retired," Kyle replied. "So; what's a lovely young jarhead like you doing with this ol' fly-boy?"

Wisely, Sandra chose to ignore the jab about their age gap. "Vacation," she said. Her smile widened. "Besides, men are like wine – they just get better with age."

* * *

"They seem nice," Sandra offered as they made their way along the quiet path.

"Yeah, they are," Jack said. "You sure you don't mind spending the evening with them?"

Sandra was bewildered. "Of course not," she said. Didn't he realize how important he was becoming to her? Were all men this thickheaded, or was it just him? She tucked her hand into his and gave it a tight squeeze, not yet ready to tell him how she felt. Words were difficult for her – famed motormouth, class of '98.

Jack seemed to understand though – he returned the squeeze and smiled down at her.

They strolled along in a comfortable silence, Sandra drinking in the beautiful woodland around her. What this place must look like in summer …! She slipped her arm around Jack and hugged him tightly to her. This wonderful place and this wonderful man – he'd done more to heal her than years of therapy could ever have achieved.

"You're quite a guy, you know that?" she said.

"And you're quite a gal," he replied, touching her cheek.

She stopped suddenly and put her hands on his shoulders. "I mean it," she said. "I don't know what would've become of me if you hadn't come into my life."

An interesting shade of pink made its way up Jack's cheeks. "Well, there's no reason that this is it," he said. "Your transfer to SG-8 has been rubber-stamped, and … uh … Hammond knows about us."

"The rumor mill's more efficient than I gave it credit for," Sandra commented. "And he's okay with it?"

Jack smiled down at her. "He's a good guy, Sandra, and I was the one who told him. He wanted to know why you were being transferred again." He touched her hair. "I didn't jump the gun, did I?" he asked.

Touched by his vulnerability, Sandra put her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his chest, feeling his heart beat. "You're quite a guy, fly-boy," she reiterated. "I'd like to see where this goes," she added, reflecting that the words hadn't been as difficult as she'd thought.

* * *

Jack caught his breath as Sandra emerged from the guest room. "Whatcha think, fly-boy?" she asked, twirling.

Her blonde hair was pulled into a complicated arrangement of coils and loops, and she was wearing a dress. Not just a dress, though. Pale blue in color, it skimmed rather than hugged her figure, then flared out at the hips to swirl around her calves.

"You … uh" – he cleared his throat. "You look beautiful," he said gruffly. _Mouth closed. Good boy._

"Thanks," she said. "You clean up real nice yourself," she added. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"Uh … your dress," he mumbled.

"Bugger my dress," she said, her eyes closing as she deepened the kiss.

_Bugger her dress._ He scooped her up against him and proceeded to ravish her soft lips.

Time passed – God knows how much – before they broke their clinch. "Wow," she muttered, her hair ruffled and her lips scarlet. She cleared her throat then took his hand. "Let's go, fly-boy – we've got a date to keep," she reminded him.

"Huh?" Jack shook his head and focused. Oh, right. Kyle and Anne. "Yeah," he said. He grabbed his keys from the hall table. "And I'm driving – I'm in no hurry to break the sound barrier."

She punched him gently in the stomach. "You're a real comedian, mon Colonel," she said.

She headed out in front of him, her hips swaying … was she doing that on purpose? … and her hands busy fixing her hair.

* * *

The evening went well. Kyle and Anne were always good company, as was their 15 year old son, Alan. He planned on joining the ROTC when he went to college, and was determined to enter one of the forces after he graduated.

Much to Jack's amusement, he also regarded Sandra as the best discovery since the Shroud of Turin. He hung on every word she said, but luckily was too awed to flirt with her. Jack might just have had to pound on him – a little.

"You're a Marine?" he said. "Dad said that Marines are all jarheads, but you … uh …". He shut his mouth in embarrassed confusion.

Sandra laughed. "Yeah; fly-boy here says the same," she said, throwing a teasing glance Jack's way. "I cross-trained as an engineer," she added. "Most Marines cross-train; we don't tend to have long tours of active duty. There are no old Marines." She looked sad momentarily, then brightened. "I figure another ten years, then I'll become a scientist geek."

"So," Kyle said, handing them both a soda, "how long have you two been … uh … together?"

"A few days," Sandra replied easily, having gotten used to Kyle's manner by now. She nudged Anne and added, "I wonder what it is about guys in a uniform?"

Anne chuckled. "Who knows?" she replied. "You should see the girls at school when Alan's in his cadet get-up."

"Mom!" Alan protested, his face going bright red.

Sandra leaned over to him. "She's just teasing you, Alan," she said.

He regarded her with besotted puppy-dog eyes. "Yeah; she does that a lot," he said.

"She's a mother; it's her job," Sandra said, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

_You've no idea what you're doing to the kid_, Jack thought. At 15 he'd been one giant hormone, but Sandra at 15 had been a terrified little girl. She had no experience with horny adolescents, and he was determined that she wasn't going to find out.

* * *

Sandra sat in the garden with Anne Williams, glaring daggers at Jack. He'd been in a weird mood for over an hour now, and had refused to join her in the garden. "What's his problem?" she groused.

Anne smiled at her. "You don't know?" she said.

Sandra shook her head. "No idea," she said. "We've spent three wonderful days together, then his mood just changes!" She heaved her shoulders and gave vent to the eternal expression of exasperation: "Men!"

Anne chuckled. "Alan thinks you're the best invention since television," she said. "Jack isn't jealous, but he's feeling rather … possessive, you might say."

Sandra rubbed the back of her neck. "Anne; I've done nothing to encourage your son," she said.

Anne grinned. "You don't need to," she said. "You're beautiful, and you talk to him like an adult would."

Sandra sighed. "Guys are so strange," she said.

"They are," Anne agreed, "but we couldn't do without them, bless their weaselly little hearts. Now, go talk to your Colonel," she added. "I can't take much more of his whipped puppy expression."

Sandra smiled at her new friend. "I think I will," she said, squeezing the older woman's hand.

She got up from the bench and headed back into the Williams's living room. "Yo, fly-boy; I want a word with you," she said.

He turned toward her, his brown eyes hooded in that way that made her want to kill him. "Of course," he said, and allowed her to steer him into the kitchen.

"You're such an ass," she said, plopping her hands on her hips. "You've had a bug up your butt for over an hour now, and I want to know why. Is it about the kid?"

"Ah." A rueful smile lit up his eyes, and he took one of her hands in his. "No, it's not about Alan. Uh, Sandra … there's a special trip I've got to make tomorrow. Will you come with me?" He gripped her hand.

"Sure," Sandra said, relieved that whatever had caused his mood, it wasn't her.

* * *

**Day Four:**

Sandra put an arm around Jack's waist as she stared at the memorial plaque. 'Charles O'Neill. 1984 to 1996'.

"Hey, Charlie," he said. "Happy birthday, kid. I've brought someone I thought you'd like to meet. This is Sandra Ryan." He smiled slightly. "I know; you can't believe I actually found someone who'd put up with the old man."

Sandra said nothing to his self-denigrating remark. This was Jack's time with his son. "You'd be 18 now," he continued, "and probably fighting for first dibs on this beautiful girl."

Jack put a hand on the plaque. "I miss you, kid," he said. "There's a lot I've done that I'm not proud of, but you were my greatest achievement." He swallowed hard, tears gathering in his eyes. "I love you, Charlie."

* * *

The rest of the day passed quietly, with Jack sharing some of his memories of Charlie with Sandra, but otherwise being silent.

The mini Marine was a good listener – Charlie would've liked her, he mused. "You up for some coffee, kid?" he asked.

"Always," she said with a smile. "Especially your coffee."

"I remember when Charlie tried coffee for the first time," he called out from the kitchen.

"Yeah?" Sandra said, following him in.

Jack returned the chuckle. "You would've thought I was askin' him to host a Goa'uld from the face he made," he admitted.

"You deliberately made the coffee bad, didn't you?" Sandra said. "That was a dirty trick!"

Jack shrugged, completely impenitent. "The last thing the world needs is a ten year old hopped on caffeine," he said.

* * *

Sandra got out of bed as muttering penetrated her sleep. "Charlie …," she heard Jack say. "Oh, god, no …"

It was her turn to be there for him. She pattered into the master bedroom and found him entangled in his sheets. "Charlie," he muttered.

She put her hand on his arm, amazed at how tense the muscles were. "Wake up," she said firmly.

"Wha …?" Jack awoke, his hair askew and his eyes wild. "Charlie?" Then he seemed to see her for the first time. "Sandra; was I yelling?" he inquired in low tones, sitting up.

"No; you were quiet," she lied, sitting down next to him and rubbing his shoulders. "Bad dream?" she inquired.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked at her suspiciously. "A doozy," he admitted.

"Well, it's over now," said Sandra, though she privately doubted it. If it was what she thought it was, it would never go away – not entirely.

The muscles relaxed under her ministration and he put a hand on her arm. "Stay … a bit longer?" he asked.

Her heart pounded then she saw the vulnerability in his velvety eyes. He wasn't railroading her – he needed the comfort of another presence. "Sure," she said, swinging her legs onto the bed and under the covers. "Your bed's a lot bigger than mine."

He smiled at her. "Thanks," he said, lying down also and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

She turned slightly so she wasn't lying on his arm, put her arm round his waist and closed her eyes. "Go back to sleep, fly-boy," she said.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The last two days of their vacation had been pure heaven. Early morning fishing, afternoon walks, lazy evenings in front of the fire.

And Sandra had spent those two nights in Jack's bed, his arms wrapped around her. Nothing more than that had happened, but she knew they were both happy.

She stood with Harris and the rest of SG-8 in the embarkation room. Suddenly, a bunch of SFs burst in and the 'gate cranked into action. What now?

"Receiving SG-1's IDC!" Sergeant Harriman said from the control room.

"Unlock the iris," Hammond ordered.

Sandra's eyebrow rose. SG-1 wasn't due back for another week – that had to be trouble.

The huge titanium iris retracted on itself and Jack, Carter, Teal'c and Captain Colbert appeared – lucky number five. "Shut the iris!" Jack shouted.

The iris slammed back just in time – Sandra could hear distinct thuds before the wormhole disengaged. They were all soaked to the skin. Jack's porcupine hair clashed with a wet tense face, Teal'c looked unruffled and Carter was trying to hide her chattering teeth. Next to them, Captain Colbert's hat dripped over his glasses, which were fogged over with condensation. It looked like he'd pulled down the blinds and shut up shop for the day. Maybe not a bad idea, by the look on Jack's face.

Jack turned on him and snarled, "When I give you an order, Captain, you follow it!"

Colbert raised his glasses and looked straight into his CO's angry brown eyes. "Violence isn't the answer to everything, sir," he said. "I thought I could negotiate …"

"A-ah!" Jack's hand flew up, cutting off the anthropologist. "You don't negotiate with the Goa'ulds – you haul ass! You have trouble understanding English?"

General Hammond appeared. "I take it things did not go well, Colonel?" he asked.

"Understatement of the century," Jack said.

"Classify 739 as hostile, sir," Carter said. She nodded at Harris and Sandra. "It won't qualify as a Beta site."

Hammond nodded at the same time as Sandra. "SG-8; your mission to P6Y 739 is scrubbed," he said, then turned to SG-1. "Report to the Infirmary. We'll debrief later." He looked at both SG teams. "Dismissed," he added.

Sandra went over to Jack, who relaxed slightly and gave her a rueful grin. "Hey, fly-boy," she said.

"Hey, jarhead," he responded.

* * *

Jack sat on the bed in the Infirmary, waiting for the … there it was! The penlight in the eye! "In what frozen hell d'you think you'll ever find anything in my eye?" he demanded.

"Humor me, Colonel," Fraiser said, smiling at him. The tiny tyrant ran her Infirmary with a rod of iron, but there was no doubting her efficiency … or her caring.

Jack would never forget her face when they'd lost Daniel. She'd stalked away and kicked a hole in the door. Almost against her will, the small woman had become part of SG-1's family, and Daniel was the first friend she'd lost.

"So, I take it Captain Colbert will need reassigning?" she said.

"He needs busting," Jack groused. "He disobeyed a direct order. Nearly got us all killed." At least they'd found out about the Goa'uld presence before SG-8's mission next week.

His stomach churned. While he had no doubt Sandra and her two Marines could take care of themselves, they were hampered by the half dozen scientists on the team. That was why SG-1 and SG-3 always carried out preliminary reccies on new worlds.

Maybe he'd take advantage of SG-8's scrubbed mission and take Sandra out for a nice dinner. They'd barely seen each other the last week – just chance encounters in the hallways – and he missed her. Geez; she was turning him into a sap.

"Yow!" He snatched his arm back as Doc Fraiser jabbed a needle into his upper arm. "What the hell was that?"

"An anti-tetanus shot," she informed him blithely. "Your booster was due to run out soon, and you've got some nasty cuts on your face and arms."

"Oh, okay. Thanks," he said grudgingly.

* * *

Sandra sat down in the commissary, exchanging nods with a couple of her former colleagues from SG-3. Maybe she should take advantage of SG-8's scrubbed mission and ask Jack out to dinner.

"Lieutenant Ryan."

She looked up from her green Jell-O at the deep voice of Teal'c. "Hey, Teal'c," she said.

"May I join you?" he asked, juggling a loaded tray. Two full meals, along with three pounds of grapes.

"Sure."

He dipped his head to her. "Thank you," he said.

"Little snack?" She waved her hand at the plethora of foods.

"Battle gives me an appetite," he admitted, stretching out a huge arm for the salt shaker.

"So; which snake-head was it? Apophis, Heru-ur?" Sandra asked idly.

Teal'c shook his head. "It was not a System Lord; a minor Goa'uld named Ba'al."

"Ba'al?" Sandra blurted out. "That son of a bitch?"

Teal'c tilted an eyebrow. "You have encountered this false god before, Lieutenant Ryan?"

"Yeah," Sandra said. "My first mission with SG-3. He killed one of my colleagues."

His dark eyes softened. "I am sorry for your loss," he said. "If it is of any consolation, I believe we caused him a great deal of trouble … and lost him half of his personal guard."

Sandra smiled slightly. "That actually helps," she said. "So; how are Drey'auc and Rya'c?"

Teal'c smiled. "They are well," he said, "although Rya'c appears to have grown a melshak since my last visit."

"Kids have that habit," Sandra said. "Except me. I stopped growing by the time I was twelve." Until now, she'd had trouble thinking of this huge scary warrior as a family man, but now …

"Indeed," Teal'c said. "Did you have an enjoyable vacation, Lieutenant Ryan?"

Except for Jack, the big Jaffa appeared to call everyone by their full names. She smiled at the memory of that week in Minnesota. "Yeah," she said. "Went fishing." _And then some._

"O'Neill went fishing also," Teal'c said. Sandra's head flew up, but he continued placidly, "I wish you both happiness – you suit each other admirably."

"Geez; was it that obvious?" Sandra said, going red.

"Not on your part, Lieutenant Ryan," the big Jaffa reassured her. "But I have known O'Neill for many years."

"Oh." The hectic blush calmed, then resurfaced as Jack strolled into the commissary. "Speak of the devil," she muttered.

"And he shall appear," Teal'c added with a small smile. "Hello, O'Neill," he said.

* * *

Jack left the briefing room, having filed the paperwork necessary to bust Captain Colbert – mutiny was not too strong a word – and decided that a meal was in order. He'd lost five pounds in the last two weeks, and Doc Fraiser had taken him off the strict diet, while still warning him about cholesterol – "It's an age thing, Colonel," she'd said.

"Hey, kids," he said casually, pleased to see that Sandra and Teal'c were getting along. After all, she hadn't known the Jaffa as long as he had. Saying that, he didn't exactly trust the guilty looks they shared – like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. "So, what's goin' on?" he asked, reaching over and stealing some of Teal'c's mound of grapes.

"Nothing," Sandra said, opening her eyes to their widest extent.

He didn't buy her innocent act. "Huh," he grunted.

"Really," she said. "We were just comparing notes from our respective vacations." She raised an eyebrow and put her hand on his thigh.

"Indeed," the big guy chimed in, ignorant of the volcano building in Jack O'Neill. "We have both had good vacations." The eyebrow ratcheted. "Are you aware that you both share a bizarre passion for fishing?"

Every time Jack thought Teal'c just wasn't getting a sense of humor, the big guy would fell him with a zinger. "Yeah?" he asked, going red.

"Yes," Teal'c said, demolishing the remains of his lunch. "I must go now – kelno'reem." He dipped his head to Jack and Ryan. "Tek matté, Lieutenant Ryan," he said, extending his hand to her.

She gripped his forearm. "Tek ma'tek," she replied.

Jack's curiosity was piqued – she'd evidently won over the big Jaffa with her combination of shy charm and brutal honesty. "I'm glad you like him," he said. "He's a good guy."

"Yeah," she said with a grin. "There's something so … endearing about him, despite his big scary warrior façade." She gave another grin. "I bet he's a good father – he reminds me of Gabe before the divorce," she added. "Same size, same soft voice, same sweetness. He's just a big ol' teddy bear, isn't he?"

Jack grinned at her, relieved that she wasn't falling for the big guy. Many women were attracted to the Jaffa – his huge size and calm presence acted like a magnet. "He is," he said, "but you might not want to let it get out. Can't ruin his rep, after all."

Her hand brushed his cheek. "Take a tumble, did we?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, relieved when she dropped the hand. Although his team and Hammond knew about him and Sandra, he didn't relish the idea of being the subject of the SGC's rumor mill. "Hey, kid, d'you want to go out for dinner tonight?"

"Great minds," she said. "I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go out. 1900 hours?"

* * *

She was wearing another dress. This one was just as feminine as the pretty blue confection she'd worn to Anne and Kyle's, but it was a helluva lot sexier.

A simple black sheath that hugged her curves and came to just above her knees, with panels of some floating fabric that softened the sexy effect. She was wearing black stockings and black heeled shoes that added two inches to her height. She looked amazing.

"Whoa!" he said. "I'll let you out as soon as I can let go of the door frame!"

She smiled. "Thanks," she said, spraying a fresh and fruity scent onto her wrists. She wore no cosmetics; not that she needed them, her skin was as clear and perfect as a child's.

She headed over to the coat and Jack prised his fingers from the door frame. He held her jacket – Kathleen O'Neill's lessons in chivalry sometimes showed – and she shrugged into it. He tugged the soft masses of blonde hair out from the collar then turned her round. "You're beautiful," he said quietly, burying his hands in her hair and kissing her. Yeah; he'd said she would set the boundaries, but that dress was a walking gold-plated invitation to his hormones!

She pressed up against him and wound her leg around his, bringing them into even closer contact, whilst sliding her arms under his jacket. "Mmm," she mumbled, stroking his back.

"Mmmm," he mumbled in response, bending his head and kissing the hollow at the base of her throat, feeling the pulse flutter.

She giggled – and pushed him away! "That tickles!" she said scoldingly.

"I kiss you and you laugh?" he said, putting on his best whipped puppy expression.

Sandra laughed. "Come on, fly-boy," she said, tugging at his hand, "I'm hungry!"

"Slave-driver," he complained, although he had to admit to an extremely 'guy' satisfaction at her thoroughly kissed mouth.

She swatted his butt. "Abso-freakin'-lutely, honey," she drawled in her thickest Louisiana accent. "Tote that barr'l; lift that bale."

He swatted her own butt and she yelped. "That'll teach you, little Miss Ryan," he said.

Whooping with laughter, she preceded him out of her quarters.

* * *

Sandra yelped as he returned the cheeky slap. "That'll teach you, little Miss Ryan," he said.

She laughed and headed out of her quarters, wondering if she should feel bad for acting so … provocatively. No; she trusted Jack implicitly – he was so amazing.

And he was looking especially fine tonight in a dark gray suit with a soft cream shirt. He'd even managed to tame his hair, although their clinch had dislodged it. Such a great face, and such a great guy.

The livid scratches he'd received during his fight with the Jaffa had faded. How he'd gotten through twenty odd years on active duty with only that one scar bisecting his eyebrow, she didn't know.

They signed out of the complex and made their way to his truck. Because of the height of the truck and the tightness of her dress, she had to peel it up her legs.

Jack gave a raucous whistle. "Great legs," he commented.

She hid her grin then let it out. "That's so sweet. Officially, I'm offended, but that's so sweet." She settled herself into the seat. "And might I just add; I like your legs, too."

He chuckled, then shut the door and got into the driver's seat. "Chauvinist," he said.

"Absolutely," she said, patting his thigh. "Pretty and dumb; that's how I like 'em," she added.

"Hey!" he said. "I'm not dumb and I'm certainly not pretty," he said, starting the truck.

"No," she agreed. He was far too masculine to deserve the word 'pretty'. "How about a bucketload of gorgeous?"

She was surprised when twin streaks of red carved up his lean cheeks. "Come off it," he grumbled as they sped along the interstate. "I'm a beat-up Colonel on the wrong side of 40."

Geez; the guy had no idea how to take a compliment! "Beauty's in the eye," she said. "And in my eyes, you're a heapin' helpin' of hottie," she drawled.

He whooped with laughter, veering dangerously as his shoulders shook. "Kid; you need a seeing eye dog!"

* * *

Jack shook his head. He was still amazed that this gorgeous girl was attracted to him. She was the one who was a 'heapin' helpin' of hottie', not him.

In that black dress that left her slim arms bare, she glowed. He stretched his hand out and touched the soft skin. There was certainly no sign of the Marine who'd decked two goons twice her size the evening before 621. She was entirely, kissably female.

He recalled the last day of their Minnesota trip and his mouth curved …

* * *

**Flashback – Day Six:**

Sandra surfaced grudgingly to wakefulness. "No!" she grumbled. "Good dream!" She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to get the dream back.

She sank back into the shelter of Jack's long muscled frame, enjoying the warmth of his arms around her. He kissed the back of her neck. "Good morning, beautiful," he said.

She smiled. "Mornin'," she said, not yet deigning to crack open an eye. She was entirely too relaxed, stretched out beside her fly-boy, his arms hugging her to him. He was a real hugger – this was a side of the bad-ass Black Ops Colonel few people were privileged to see.

And she was becoming just as tactile under his sweet patient courtship. He nuzzled her neck and she yelped at the roughness of his chin. "You need a shave, fly-boy," she mumbled.

He kissed her ears and then nipped gently at her shoulder. "Don't interrupt me while I'm enjoying breakfast," he ordered in his best 'Colonel' tone.

"Well, in that case …". She turned round and presented her lips. "Second course!"

He molded his lips softly to hers, sucking her bottom one into his mouth then exploring gently with his tongue. Her own tongue snaked out – oh, yuck, bad choice of words! – to tangle with his, and she slid her hands to the nape of his neck as they fought for dominance.

His hands slid down her back to cup her rear and pressed her against him. Her eyes widened as she realized exactly what she was doing to him, and her face flamed. "Jack …," she muttered, unsure whether she was ready or not.

He looked into her eyes then rolled away, giving her a brief kiss on the tip of her nose. "Hungry?" he asked with a grin when her stomach rumbled.

She blew out a relieved breath – she didn't want him to think she was teasing him, but she just … she wasn't ready yet. "Yeah; pretty much," she admitted.

**End flashback**

* * *

Jack pressed a little harder on the accelerator. His thoughts were dangerous for a man driving anything faster than a lawn-mower.

He swung into the parking lot outside Alfredo's, glad that he'd thought of bringing her here. That dress alone deserved the best. And as for the woman inside it …

The six days in his cabin had been very special and he'd found himself falling further … in love with her? Was he in love with her? He was reluctant to pin a label on his feelings – after all, he'd hardly had a great deal of success in the romance stakes the last few years. Geez; it was over two years since his thing with Laira! No wonder he was feeling like some ruttin' stallion!

They'd shared his bed the last two nights and indulged in sweet kisses and strong embraces. He was more than ready to take it to the next level, but he didn't want to frighten the amazing beautiful girl sitting next to him.

He got out of the truck and went round to the passenger side, opening the door. "Allow me, my lady," he said. He put his hands on her slim waist and lifted her out of the truck. She stumbled on some gravel and pressed up against him.

_Don't react, O'Neill_, he told his inner beast. _She just tripped – it was an accident._

She smiled. Her hands snaked around him and squeezed his butt. They exchanged a look that was pure heat. _Maybe not an accident, after all_, he thought, responding to her provocative movement.

He tilted his head to kiss her, but recalled that they were standing in the parking lot of Colorado's toniest restaurant.

He stepped back from her. "You fancy catchin' a movie at the drive-in?" he asked. It was one of the few drive-in theaters left in the country. "After dinner, perhaps?" It was time she learned the delights of the ancient practice of 'parking'.

"Let's play it by ear," she said in a new throaty tone that sent his blood pressure soaring to an all time high. She tucked her hand in his and directed him toward the restaurant. "Let's eat."

* * *

Sandra shot up straight as the double espresso hit her system. "Yubba," she muttered, now wide awake. She'd had a wonderful meal, and she and Jack had chatted, sharing stories. The sexual tension had eased, and she was relieved … wasn't she?

She examined her fly-boy's face – he really was gorgeous, she mused with a grin. And he certainly wasn't immune to her either.

The lights dimmed and several couples moved onto the dance floor. "Sandra; want to dance?" Jack said.

Sandra shook her head. "I don't know how," she admitted. She'd never done the prom thing at school, and she'd always wriggled out of the formals they'd held at the Academy.

He got up and held his hand out. "It's not difficult – we just hold each other and sway," he said. He grinned slightly. "If I can do it, anyone can," he added.

Sandra shrugged her shoulders. _What the hell._ She got up and put her hand in his. They went to the dance floor and he put one hand on her shoulder and the other on her waist then led her gently through the strains of violin.

She followed his movements, one arm round his waist and the other on his arm. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. "This is nice," she admitted.

"Yeah," Jack said, kissing the top of her head. He plucked her hand from his arm and covered it with his own, resting it on his chest.

* * *

By the time they left the restaurant, it was past midnight. So much for the drive-in. Jack helped Sandra into the truck. "So; back to base, kid?" he asked, wincing as a headache made itself known.

"Uhm … could we go back to your place instead?" she practically whispered.

_Careful, O'Neill._ "Yeah," he said. "I'd like that. I could use a coffee."

Sandra smiled at that. "Careful, Jack," she said, "you're getting as bad as Doctor Jackson."

Jack chuckled – Daniel and his caffeine addiction had evidently become famous across the SGC. "Oh, I think you're closer than I am, jarhead," he said.

"Hey!" Sandra protested, smacking him upside the head.

Jack started the truck and backed it out of the parking lot. "You know; you could be busted for striking a superior officer?" he teased, trying to ignore his now screaming headache.

"I'd just claim diminished capacity – you could drive Carry Nation to a week-long bender!"

Jack grinned. "I have an effect on people," he agreed smugly. Even without looking at her, he could sense her rolling her eyes.

"You have no idea," she replied seriously, then put her hand on his arm. "You know; despite the fact that you drive me crazy, I like you a lot. I think I could even … love you," she added nervously.

He covered her hand with his free one, touched at her confession. "Look, it's just coffee, right?" he said. "We go at your pace, Sandra – I can wait," he added just before a monster sneeze burst from him.

"Gesundheit," Sandra said.

"Thanks," he muttered as another sneeze ripped through him. He pulled over into a convenient lay-by as his vision blurred, then he felt a cool hand on his forehead.

"You're a bit warm, Jack," she said. "I think I'd better drive."

"Yeah," he agreed, getting out of the truck. He hated getting sick, but the dizziness left him unsafe for driving.

Now ensconced in the passenger seat, he watched her as she sped along the interstate. His head was killing him, but she was literally a sight for sore eyes. "You really are beautiful," he said, "and not just on the outside."

She touched his hot cheek with her cool little hand. "You got a fever and you can still hit on me?" she drawled. "That takes skill."

He smiled at her then closed his eyes against the glow of the headlights.

* * *

Sandra trod on the accelerator as Jack's head slumped against her shoulder. He was one sick boy, but she knew he'd deny it. In her years in the Corps, she'd discovered that men fell into two camps: the ones who were such babies that you wanted to break their necks, or the hard-asses who insisted they were fine when they could barely breathe.

She pulled up inside his carport. "We're home," she said. She got out of the truck and went over to the passenger side. "Jack?" she asked. "Can you get out by yourself?"

"Yeah, sure, ya betcha!" he said and stepped out of the truck.

Sandra bit off a giggle at his indignation upon folding downward, then put her arms around him and hauled him up. "Let's get you to bed," she said, unlocking the front door.

"Really?"

He grinned – or rather leered – at her and she slapped his arm lightly. "No funny ideas, Colonel!" she scolded.

"Worth a try," he mumbled. "I don't need to go to bed – I'm fine."

"Yeah, sure," Sandra replied, kicking the door shut.

By the time she'd persuaded him that he really did need to get to bed, she was exhausted herself. She tucked the covers under his chin then brushed his silver hair back, startled at the dry heat emanating from him. "You really are a sick boy," she murmured.

"Sandra?" His hand covered hers. "Don't leave me."

"I'll only be a few minutes, okay?" she replied, knowing that being sick and alone was really crummy.

"Okay," he said plaintively.

She headed to his closet and pulled out a spare pair of sweats and a tee shirt. If she was playing nursemaid, then she sure as hell wasn't doing it in a dress and heels!

In the bathroom she changed quickly and pulled back her hair with a thick elastic band.

"Sandra," he said pitifully from the bedroom. Her stomach twisted at how forlorn he sounded – it had to be the fever talking.

She came back into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. She took his hand. "Try to sleep," she said gently.

He gripped her hand. "Beautiful," he mumbled, his eyes a little glazed.

"Yeah, whatever … go to sleep, Jack," she replied.

* * *

It was a long night. Jack alternated between cranky Colonel with a P90 and short periods of delirium.

Sandra sat on the bed, watching him with an anxious eye as he tossed and turned, the heat emanating from him.

She set her jaw, then got up and pulled the sheets off of him. "Jack; can you sit up?" she asked. "I need to get some of these clothes off of you."

He grinned at her, his jaw stubbled and his eyes bloodshot. "Sweet," he said.

Well, at least it was an improvement on the cranky Colonel with a P90. "Sit up, Colonel," she ordered.

With her help, he was propped up against headboard and she undid his shirt, sliding it off him. "I'm just going to get a wet cloth," she told him.

His hands manacled her waist. "Thirsty," he complained.

"I'll get you some water," Sandra promised, trying to get free. She'd had no idea he was so strong.

She wriggled away, then went to the bathroom, got a bowl of water and washcloth, then drew a glass for Jack. "Sandra?" he called out.

"I'm here," she replied gently, sitting down next to him. "Can you get this?"

"Yeah," he said then his eyes widened as the damp cloth made its way over his chest. "Take it easy!" he complained. "That's cold!"

"You have a fever, Jack," Sandra said steadily, wiping the cloth over his flushed face.

"Damn it, Ryan; I'm fine!" he said, pushing her hand away.

Ah, so the cranky Colonel with the P90 was back, was he? "No, Colonel, you're not fine," Sandra said, resuming the steady bathing. "You've got the flu, but it's a pretty light one – probably just one of those 24-hour bugs."

"Good – I hate being sick," he declared, "but at least you're a lot nicer than ol' Doc Fraiser. You don't have any big needles!"

* * *

Aaaarrgghh. Who'd zatted him? Even his hair hurt. Colonel Jack O'Neill, USAF, surfaced to reluctant wakefulness.

He felt a warmth next to him, and looked down to see Sandra's small frame curled around his body, her legs tangled with his. _Whoa, Nelly._ He'd never worn a Marine before. Even in his sweatpants and tee shirt which swamped her, she looked beautiful.

She sat up. "You're awake," she stated. _Hail, Supreme Princess of the Obvious._ She brushed a hand across his forehead. "Cool," she added. "How're you feeling?"

"Peachy," Jack said.

She smiled at him then. "I don't believe you," she said, "but it's good to hear." She got out of the bed. "D'you think you could manage some toast?"

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah," he said, suddenly aware of his stomach's complaints. "I'm pretty hungry."

"Great," she said, hissing softly as she stretched to open the curtains.

"You okay, kid?" Jack asked.

"Fine," she said with a smile. "I think I slept wrong."

She didn't meet his eyes, and he had the feeling there was something she wasn't saying. "Now, why don't I believe you?" he said wryly.

"It's nothing," she said. "I just banged into the door."

He caught his breath. How many times had she told a teacher that when she'd lived with Gabe? He got out of bed, hoping his legs wouldn't wobble, and captured her arms. "Did I … hurt you?" he asked.

She laughed. "Of course not; I zoned out and walked into the door knob. I can be pretty klutzy at times."

Right. He'd seen the way she handled a P90, and he also remembered the natural rhythms of her body as they'd danced last night. "Sandra," he warned.

She sighed. "You had a couple periods of delirium," she said. "You didn't mean to."

_Oh God. What a jerk._ He'd done to her what her stepfather had done and what she probably expected every guy to do. She probably thought he was scum.

"Jack?" she said. She took his arm and led him back to the bed.

He sat down, loathing himself in a way he hadn't done … since Charlie. He should've known something like this would happen. No matter how much he loved someone, he always wound up hurting them.

"Jack?" she said again, sitting down next to him.

"You'd better go," he said, aiming for his usual easy-going grin. "I'm fine now."

"No, you're not," she argued, slipping an arm round his waist, and hugging him. "And I'm not watching you go off on some needless guilt trip."

She could still trust him – after whatever he'd done to her? He put out a hand and slid it round her own slim waist. She flinched and he snatched his hand back. What was he thinking? She was a good kind-hearted kid who'd looked after him when he was sick, but he'd destroyed the bond that had been growing between them.

Turning away from her, he lay back down. "I'm tired," he lied, closing his eyes. "There's money in my wallet – call a cab to take you back to the base."

* * *

Sandra gaped at her fly-boy. Every time she thought they were getting somewhere, bang, the shutters slammed down. Was it really worth it? Then she remembered their vacation and being held in his arms. What that opinionated, sarcastic, hard-ass man could make her feel!

She sat down next to him and put her hand to his face. "Don't shut me out," she said. "How can I convince you how much I trust you?"

Silence.

She wanted to scream. Pigheaded Irish fool! She swung her legs onto the bed and kissed him gently.

Nada.

"Damn you, Jack; talk to me!" she exclaimed. She gave him a deeper kiss, putting her arms around him.

"Mmmm," he mumbled.

Well, that was something. Not exactly witty conversation, but it was better than nothing. She tightened her arms around him and smiled when he slipped his own hands around her waist.

Against her will, she flinched when he came into contact with the bruise on her side. His face paled and he pushed her away. "I'm … sorry," he said in low tones.

Jackass! She wondered what the penalty was for killing a Colonel. "Jack O'Neill; don't you push me away!" she snapped.

His eyes flew open, and she took his hand, guiding it under her shirt to her heart. "Feel that," she said, knowing that it was pounding. "No man has ever had this effect on me before." For more than one reason – she wanted to be with him, but she was scared too.

His stubbled face broke into a smile. "Ah, Sandra; you're amazing," he said, gathering her into his strong arms and kissing her.

* * *

His amazing beautiful Sandra. Jack studied her as she slept, tired out from looking after him all night and from their lovemaking. In sleep, she looked even younger – innocent and carefree.

He smiled gently, stroking her hair away from her face. She was perfect – even when she was being argumentative and sarcastic. Spirited, strong, stubborn – far too into her doohickeys – but she was also sweet and loving.

"I love you," he murmured, kissing her.

She smiled against his lips. "I love you too, fly-boy," she said.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Sandra opened her eyes and smiled at Jack. "Mornin'," she said, kissing him softly on the lips.

"Mornin'," he said, putting a hand on her hip. "What time's it?"

"0500." After six years, it had become second nature to use military terms for the time.

"Five o'clock?" He scowled at her. "What's with the early reveille?"

"P7U 349," she said. "Sirena and Solen's wedding."

"Ah." He smiled ruefully then got out of bed, stretching and yawning. "I'm gonna hit the shower."

He disappeared into the bathroom. Pretty soon, he was belting out a selection of opera, and she grinned. Geez; it was time to bring this guy up to date – it was the 21st century, for crying out loud!

She stretched her limbs in the king-size bed. Well, it was time for her to hit the shower, too.

In the shower, she mused on the last month. They'd spent most of their free nights together, even if they were too tired to do anything but sleep. Jack and the rest of SG-1, including number six, Captain Peters, who'd actually lasted three weeks!, had spent a week on some backwater planet. When he'd gotten home last night, she'd been waiting for him with a kiss and take-out menu – not exactly 'Leave It To Beaver', but hey, it was the thought that counted.

_Home._ It was funny how she thought of this house as her home. He'd given her a key a couple of weeks ago, and they were unofficially living together. She still had her quarters at Cheyenne Mountain – like all SGC personnel – but tended to just crash there when she was too tired to go home.

She'd enjoyed the last few weeks with SG-8. Major Harris was a more capable commander than she'd originally given him credit for, but he also knew when to pull back and let her take charge. Weinstein and Kinsey had come to accept her leadership also, and there was talk of second in command on the grapevine.

"Hey." Through the frosted doors, she could see Jack walk in, a towel around his lean waist. _Very, very nice._ "Get a move on, kid."

Geez, he was impatient today! She rolled her eyes. "I'm just finishing," she said. She switched off the water and wrapped a towel around herself.

She stepped out of the shower and he put a hand on her wet leg. She grinned. "If Gabe caught you doin' that, he would cut your thang off," she teased. At about 13, she'd started noticing some of the guys in their town; and they'd begun to notice her, too. Poor Gabe. The worried father who'd had to hear "You're not my real father" far too often.

Jack chuckled and removed his hand from her leg, putting it on her shoulder instead. She tried to put disapproval onto her face. "D'you want something or did you just come in here to play?" she asked.

"I think I'm having a mid-life crisis," he said, tracing the path made by one of the drops of water with his finger.

"I can believe that," she said, sitting on the edge of the tub. "Maybe you should make an appointment with Doctor Mackenzie; get some counseling."

"That's not the kind of counseling I need," he said. He sat down on the floor and put his head on her thigh.

"That's hardly a traditional therapeutic posture," she pointed out, running a hand through his hair.

"But it is comfortable," he said. "Anyway; I think I got the hots for a beautiful girl twenty years younger than I am. But maybe that's just because I'm so 'Jung' at heart."

She put a hand over her eyes and chuckled.

"I can't believe I said that," Jack commented.

"I can't believe I laughed at that," she teased.

"Ah, you probably laugh at all Colonel jokes," he said, walking his fingers across her shoulders.

"No; only those of the cute Colonels," she said, exploring his biceps with her own fingers.

He beamed up at her. "Y'know; we've got a little free time till the mission," he said.

She grinned. "There's a lot to be said for some free time," she commented.

He sprang up, scooped her up against him, and charged into the bedroom.

* * *

Jack doodled on his pad as Carter's presentation continued. He'd tried to pay attention, but she'd lost him after 'subspace compression' and 'ten dimensions'. Teal'c and Hammond listened politely, while the techs from SG-8 hung on every word.

He glanced up from his work of art – a curvy woman who bore a striking resemblance to a certain First Lieutenant – and smiled in sympathy at Weinstein and Kinsey. He added a sarong to the figure and a couple palm trees for effect. _Nice._

"Thank you, Major," Hammond said as Carter sat down. "This brings us to the next purpose of this joint briefing. Colonel?" He nodded to Jack.

Jack hid a delighted grin and balled up the doodle, stuffing it into his pocket. This was why he'd listened to Carter babble on about 'subspace' and other junk. "Thank you, General," he said in his best military manner. "Lieutenant Ryan; front and center."

She looked startled, but got up and came over to him. "Yes, sir?" she said.

"We wanted you to know how pleased we are with the excellent work you've been doing," General Hammond began. "You've received glowing reports from all your commanding officers, and have acted beyond your rank on many occasions. This has not gone unnoticed."

Sandra went red. "Thank you, sir," she said.

"After a short meeting with General Willis" – the Marine Corps Chief of Staff – "our recommendation for promotion has been accepted. Therefore, with immediate effective, you are promoted to the rank of Captain in the Marine Corps, and second in command of SG-8, with all the responsibility that role entails."

Sandra's eyes became like saucers. Hammond took pity on her. "Ten-hut!"

Everyone got to their feet as Jack removed her Lieutenant's bar and replaced it with the double bar of a captain. He saluted her smartly, and everyone joined in. "Congratulations … Captain Ryan," he said.

She returned the salute with dancing eyes. "Thank you, Colonel," she responded.

* * *

Sandra pitched out of the wormhole and landed full length on Jack, who had begun to rise. She levered herself quickly off of him, slyly squeezing his thigh as she went, then got up. "Rough trip," she commented.

"Yeah," he agreed, _but don't think you're gonna get away with that little grope, Captain!_, he added mentally. All the same, he was happy at how her confidence had grown during the last month. He got to his feet, ignoring the protests of his knee. "Okay, kids; let's roll!"

"What, precisely, are we rolling, O'Neill?" Teal'c had a tendency to take things literally, even after five years.

"We're rolling our butts to the Tok'ra," Jack said.

"American idiom," he heard Sandra tell the big guy.

"Thank you, Captain Ryan," Teal'c responded politely.

Captain. That had a nice ring to it, Jack mused. "Let's stow the linguistics lesson for today, huh?" was all he said, however. He hitched his backpack more securely onto his shoulders and led his team and SG-8 to the rendezvous point.

He spied the elegant form of Garshaw and raised his eyebrows. She tended to leave it to Jacob to greet any visitors. Her features lit up with a smile and she strode over to Jack. "Colonel," she said, then took him by the shoulders and planted a kiss on each cheek. "Welcome to Bel'nath."

Jack cleared his throat self-consciously. "Yeah," he said.

Garshaw bent her head then Yosuf spoke. "I give you greetings also," she said, then crossed to Sandra. "I'm pleased to see you again," she said, kissing the younger woman on both cheeks.

"Yeah; it's good to see you too," Sandra replied. "How've you been?"

Yosuf tucked her arm through Sandra's and they strolled off ahead of the party, deep in conversation punctuated by laughter. Jack didn't really want to know what they were talking about.

* * *

"You look well, Sandra," Yosuf commented as they strolled along to the ring transport site.

Sandra smiled. "Yeah; I'm pretty good," she admitted, still unable to believe the events of the morning. Not that she didn't think she'd earned it, but … Captain at only 24. Pretty cool.

"You look like the chalnor that found the iztal," Yosuf said, sounding amused.

Assuming this was a variant on the cat and the canary schtick, Sandra nodded her head. "Yeah; it's all good," she said, observing Jack as he and Teal'c cantered round them and took point. This allowed her an unrestricted view of Jack's butt. _Nice._ She coughed and shifted her focus back to her friend. "So … looking forward to the wedding?" she asked brightly.

Yosuf's lips twitched as she triangulated exactly where Sandra's attention had been. "Indeed," Garshaw said. "Your Colonel is a fine figure of a man – he reminds me of the mate to my previous host."

"He's not my Colonel," Sandra said, feeling a blush warm her cheeks. Although they'd become very close over the last few weeks, they'd made no formal declaration of their status.

"I have lived a long time, Sandra," Garshaw reminded her. "I wish you and Colonel O'Neill happiness – he is a good man and suits you admirably."

"Thanks," Sandra said, the blush cooling at the sincerity in her friend's words. "It's early days yet, and the age difference sometimes bothers him, but … I'm hopeful."

Garshaw dipped her head then Yosuf chuckled. "You love Colonel O'Neill," she said. "I did not predict this happening."

"No; I love Jack," Sandra corrected.

Yosuf frowned. "I don't understand the distinction," she admitted.

"Colonel O'Neill is a hard-ass military type with a male bravado the size of a mothership," Sandra said. "Jack is sweet, gentle and loving."

Yosuf smiled. "Then I'm happy for you," she said. "I just hope that you do not put up with his antics."

Sandra laughed. "Oh, he knows how far he can go before I call him on it," she said. But usually, she thought ruefully, those beautiful brown eyes could soon worm their owner's way back into her good books.

"Good," said Yosuf. "He is a very stubborn individual."

"Yeah, but so am I," Sandra said, recalling how hard she'd chased him.

* * *

Sam Carter smiled as the petite Captain strolled off with Garshaw. She and the enigmatic Tok'ra seemed to have formed a strong bond during the mission to 621.

She'd been surprised when Ryan and the Colonel had become involved. But it was bound to happen sometime – the Colonel was a charismatic attractive man who'd had a number of women interested in him.

She gave a slight sigh, mourning not what had been, but what could have been, had things been different. In at least two other realities, she and O'Neill had been involved. But she did not want anything to come between the strong bond she and the Colonel had developed.

The bond had become a little strained after his Black Ops mission on the Tollan homeworld, but gradually things had sorted themselves out. Then, after Daniel's death, he'd hooded his feelings behind military efficiency and had shut everyone out.

She was glad for him and Ryan; they were both lonely people who hid their feelings behind sarcasm and bad jokes, and they deserved happiness. She smiled as her father appeared from around a corner. "Hi, Dad," she said.

"Hey, Sam!" Jacob replied, giving her a hug. That was one of the ways he'd changed since blending with Selmak – he'd become less military and more of a 'dad' than a 'father'. "You're looking well, kid," he added.

"Thanks; so are you," she said. "How's … uh … Selmak?"

Jacob dipped his head then his eyes flashed to indicate the presence of the symbiote. "I too am well, Major," Selmak said. "Your father is an admirable host – he makes me laugh. I believe you would call him a 'teddy bear'."

Major General Jacob Carter? "Oh yeah – a real teddy bear," she said.

* * *

"Hey," Jack said, appearing suddenly in front of Sandra.

"Whoa!" She stepped backward, lowering her fist. "You startled me, fly-boy," she said. She took in the look on his face and realized he was not in a good mood. "You okay, sir?" she asked.

He pushed a hand through his hair. "Captain; that stunt you pulled at the 'gate was completely unprofessional. Whilst on a mission, you will comport yourself as a military officer. Am I clear on this?"

Sandra flushed at his tone. Yeah; she'd gone too far by squeezing him, but he didn't have to talk to her like she was a none-too-bright plebe. "Crystal, sir," she responded tightly.

"Good." He stalked away and she frowned. He seemed to be spoiling for a fight – she'd give him a doozy when they got home tomorrow.

They'd had a number of arguments since they'd gotten together. Both were passionate and stubborn, with true Irish tempers. Fortunately, neither of them was prone to sulking, and their tempests tended to blow over rather quickly.

She put her backpack on the bed and stretched her arms high above her head. There was a knock on the door. "Come in," she said.

The door opened to admit Solen and a plump little dark-haired female. That had to be Sirena. "Greetings, Sandra," Solen said.

"Hi," Sandra responded. She smiled at the female, who was no taller than Sandra herself. "You must be Sirena … or am I talking to Gal'na?"

The flash in the eyes told her she was right, before Gal'na said, "You are indeed, Captain Ryan. My host does not yet speak your language. However, she bids you bienvenue."

French. That was French. Growing up in Louisiana, Sandra had had a number of French-speaking friends and had learned to speak it with a certain degree of fluency, although her accent was totally Southern, y'all. But what was a French-speaking human doing in the ass end of nowhere? "Je parle Français," she told the Tok'ra.

The host's head dipped then Sirena caught her arm, babbling to her in a soft variant on French. So, she was French, if a few centuries removed from her native Gaul. "It has been many years since I heard my own language," she told Sandra. "I'm glad you are here – I wanted to thank you for persuading Solen to approach me."

"You're welcome," Sandra told her. "I'm happy for you."

"Then … will you attend me at the joining ceremony?" Sirena asked shyly. "It is to you I owe my present happiness."

"Attend you? You mean, be your bridesmaid?" Sandra asked.

Sirena looked puzzled, for a moment, evidently held a quiet conversation with Gal'na then nodded her head. "That's correct," she said.

"I'd be honored," Sandra said. _As long as Class A's are okay_, she added mentally.

"Thank you, Sandra," Solen said now.

* * *

Sirena tugged thoughtfully at her hair as she circled Sandra. "My wedding is not a military occasion, Sandra," she scolded gently. "Did you not bring a dress with you?"

Sandra shook her head. "I wasn't expecting to actually be a part of this wedding," she told her new friend. "It's either the Class A's or the BDUs."

"We appear to be much the same size, although you are slimmer," Sirena pointed out. "Would you allow me to lend you one of my dresses?"

"Knock yourself out," Sandra said, forgetting to speak in French. "That's fine," she added, in French this time. "It's your day, after all."

Sirena smiled then caught Sandra's hair, undoing the neat plait swiftly. "You have lovely hair," she commented. "May I arrange it?"

"Hey, I'm the bridesmaid – I should be looking after you," Sandra said, steering her friend to the bed. "So, sit down and relax for a bit, then I'll help you get ready."

"Oui, mon Capitaine!" Sirena laughed, aiming a vaguely military salute at Sandra.

* * *

"Colonel; are you ready?" Carter appeared, done up to the nines in Class A's.

"Oh! Uh, yeah," Jack replied, twitching irritably at his tie. He hated dress blues – the collar was too damn tight and the suit itched like hell.

He hadn't seen anything of Sandra since he'd had to discipline her, and he was worried she'd taken it personally. She wasn't given to sulking but, damn it, what she'd done was completely out of order. They were lovers, but he was a superior officer – that meant he deserved respect.

"Sir?" Carter tipped her head slightly to one side, like an inquisitive canine, her wide blue eyes regarding him curiously.

"Yeah," he said, fastening the buttons on his jacket. He grinned at his 2IC. "Looking good, Carter," he offered.

She returned the grin. "You too, sir," she replied.

Teal'c appeared silently from around a corner, looking surprisingly smart in a gray suit. "Major Carter, O'Neill; the ceremony will begin shortly," he said.

"Thanks, T," Jack replied, tugging once more at his tie in a vain attempt to straighten it. _Nuts._

Teal'c raised an eyebrow then clamped a huge hand onto Jack's shoulder. "Be still," he said, straightening the recalcitrant tie.

"Uh …," Jack got out. He sometimes, after five years of close friendship, forgot just how intimidating the big guy could actually be.

* * *

Jack sat with his team and Selmak and Garshaw, waiting for the bride to put in an appearance. In contrast with a typical American wedding, Solen would collect his betrothed and escort her to the ceremony. The marriage would be conducted in silence; similar to a Buddhist ceremony … And how the hell had he known that? He must've listened to Daniel's lectures more than either of them had realized. That was … worrying.

The door to the chamber opened and Solen and Sirena appeared, accompanied by Sandra, who had a hand tucked through each of their arms. Well, that solved the mystery of where she'd been all day – they must've roped her into playing bridesmaid.

Her hair had been gathered into loose curls that scattered around her shoulders and … Jack's jaw nearly hit the floor as he saw her dress. Her body was swathed in a floaty cream material that left one shoulder provocatively bare. The neckline was quite high, but the back dipped low to the enticing curve of her hips. "Shazam!" he muttered. She looked … like a goddess.

"Indeed, O'Neill," Teal'c commented, both his eyebrows raised. "Captain Ryan looks very different."

"Uh, ya think?" Jack retorted, smiling at the two little beauties. Sandra returned the smile with her patented guy-slayer then escorted her charges to the altar.

* * *

It was a short ceremony – the Tok'ra were not ones for wasting time – and soon enough Solen and Sirena were married.

Sandra accepted a glass of juice from Jacob Carter then wandered over to her fly-boy. "Colonel; I'm sorry for the way I behaved earlier," she said. "I have no idea what came over me." Whilst she made her apology, her eyes roved over him, noting how handsome he looked in his Air Force Class A's. The jacket accentuated his broad shoulders and the pants his long legs. _Nice. Very, very nice._

"Apology accepted," Jack replied. "I like your … dress," he added.

Sandra smiled slightly; she wasn't very comfortable in this get-up, but she didn't mind Jack's reaction to it. Her hearing was excellent and she'd heard his muttered "Shazam!" when he'd first seen it. "Oh, thanks," she said, blowing a curl out of her eye. "It's not really my sort of thing, but Sirena insisted."

"You look amazing," Jack said.

"You look great too, fly-boy," Sandra replied, both relieved and disappointed that their fight was not going to happen. The air practically crackled with their energy, and sarcastic zingers flew back and forth. And then the making up … which was a heady experience of another sort.

Jack tugged at the tie and grimaced. "I hate Class A's," he grumbled. "Can't wait to get out of 'em."

Sandra choked on her drink at the image in her head and grinned. Maybe it was her recently discovered smutty mind at work, but once she got the image she couldn't shake it.

"What?" Jack said, perplexed.

She patted his hand. "I can't wait for you to get out of them either, fly-boy," she drawled.

Jack chuckled. "Yeah; I suppose it could have been taken that way … if your mind's in the gutter."

"Hey!" She smacked him lightly on one hard muscled bicep. "Just for that, I'm not putting out tomorrow night."

"You will," Jack replied confidently.

Sandra sighed. "You're probably right," she admitted. She'd never expected to feel a passion like this in her life.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck shot up. Something wasn't right … She tugged Jack's arm. "Something's happening," she told him. "I don't like it." She hadn't survived four years in the Marines by not listening to her instincts.

A peculiar whine filled the air. A bomb. Sandra shoved Jack out of the way and leapt for Garshaw.

A bright purple light filled her vision then she knew no more …

* * *

"It's SG-1's IDC, General," Sergeant Harriman said.

A day early – that was never a good sign. Hammond snatched up the receiver. "Medical personnel to the 'gate room!" He nodded at Harriman. "Open the iris."

The titanium/trinium iris retreated and the wormhole gushed out. Hammond's 2IC stormed onto the ramp, holding Captain Ryan tightly to his chest. "About time, goddammit!" he yelled, depositing Ryan onto the gurney.

Hammond headed into the embarkation room. "What happened, Colonel?"

"Goa'ulds, sir," O'Neill replied tersely, ignoring the wound dripping from his arm. "Planted a bomb. Sandra shoved me and Garshaw out of the way. She …" – he bit his lip and stared at Ryan's brutalized body – "took the brunt of the impact."

"Colonel?" Janet Fraiser appeared silently. "You're injured, and I need to operate on Captain Ryan. Please go to the Infirmary."

No-one argued with the petite Doctor – at least not for long. "Yeah," O'Neill said. He clasped Ryan's hand tightly then watched with anguished eyes as the medics wheeled her away.

* * *

It was very quiet in the Infirmary. Teal'c appeared to be in kelno'reem, although he was alert, Carter flipped aimlessly through a magazine and Jack paced restlessly, praying to a God he wasn't sure he believed in for a miracle he didn't think could happen.

The door opened and Fraiser appeared. "She's stable," she said. "But there's a lot of damage. We had to remove her spleen and a lung has collapsed. The kidneys were damaged also."

"But will she live?" Carter asked.

Janet Fraiser ran a hand through her reddish hair. "She has a fighting chance. Fortunately, she was in excellent condition. But, Colonel …". She touched Jack's arm. "She'll never be able to serve on active duty again."

Jack's vision blurred. Desk duty? That would practically be a death sentence for the bouncy mini Marine he knew and loved. "I understand," he said.

"Sir?" Carter said. "Maybe the Tok'ra could help."

"The goddamn Tok'ra! It's their fault she's in this condition!" Jack snapped at Carter.

Carter knew better than to take his words to heart. She didn't even blink as she continued. "Their medical techniques are more advanced than ours. I could ask my father …"

"Yeah." Jack made his decision. He'd always liked and trusted Jacob Carter. The fact that he was now a snake-head hadn't diminished his trustworthiness. "Call him."

Carter left the Infirmary and Jack turned back to the petite doctor. "Can I see her?" he asked.

"You can but, Colonel, be prepared," she said. "She lost a lot of blood and we've had to intubate her."

"I want to see her." Jack shoved a hand through his hair.

"Of course."

Fraiser stepped to one side and Jack headed for the ICU. He went over to the one occupied bed and stopped dead. Oh, God …

She looked so tiny in that bed, hooked up to various tubes and filters. Her skin was gray and her full lush mouth still – no acerbic rejoinders would come out of it any time soon.

Jack pulled a chair to the bed and sat down, taking her untubed hand in his. "Just hang on," he said … pleaded. "Carter's sending for Jacob. I need you to stay with us," he added. "You're a Marine, dammit – aren't you always saying you're the best?"

* * *

Hours passed – God knows how many. Jack looked up as he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Jack."

"Oh. Hey, Jacob," he responded. "Can you do anything for her?"

Jacob's head dipped then his eyes flashed. "The damage is extensive," Selmak said, "but her constitution is strong." He fitted the healing device onto his palm and aimed it at Sandra's torso.

The warm orange light flowed for several minutes then Selmak nodded his head. "The damage has been repaired," he said. "She will be weak for some time, but will make a good recovery."

"Oh … Oh, God." Jack's legs would have buckled if he'd been standing. "Thank you, Selmak."

"You are welcome, Colonel," Selmak replied. "We will need to take her with us to Bel'nath. She must receive more treatment … and Yosuf, host to Garshaw, wishes to say goodbye."

Jack blinked. "Huh?" He was too tired for snake-head crypticism.

Jacob's head bobbed downward once more then Jacob said, "Yosuf is dying. She has been ill for some time with a degenerative condition. Garshaw has been able to hold the disease at bay, but the shock of the attack has caused a relapse."

"Uhhhh …," came from the bed, "must … see … her."

Jack took her hand in his. "We'll take you," he promised. He knew that Yosuf and Sandra had become good friends during their time together.

She squeezed his hand slightly and aimed a ghost of a smile at him. "Thanks … fly-boy."

* * *

Sandra felt like death warmed over. She'd had two more treatments with the healing device, but Jacob had told her that several more would be needed.

She stood in the embarkation room with Jack and Jacob, watching as the chevrons locked into place. The wormhole gushed out then settled. "Colonel; you have a go," General Hammond said.

Holding tightly onto Jack, for she was still wobbly, she made her way into the wormhole …

… to be spat out like a lump of chewing tobacco at the other end. Just like the previous visit, she landed full length against Jack, but was not in any condition to enjoy the moment.

"Are you okay?" Jack set her gently to her feet, brushing the sand off of her.

She nodded. "Peachy. Let's roll."

* * *

Sandra walked steadily into Yosuf's chamber, nodding briefly at the Tok'ra who attended her. "Yosuf," she said.

Yosuf's eyes brightened. "Sandra," she said. "You have recovered from the Ashrak?"

"Getting there," Sandra said. "Selmak wants a few more sessions with the healing gizmo, but I'll be fine." She sat on the bed and regarded her friend. "I … don't know what to say," she admitted. She'd seen people die before – she'd even helped poor Nickson die – but had never lost a friend.

Yosuf smiled. "What is there to be said?" she replied. "I have known this day would come for a long time. Garshaw gave me thirty years that I would never have had, and I am grateful."

Her head dipped, then Garshaw's voice issued. "My host is very weak, but we both appreciate your friendship and your actions with the Ashrak. You placed yourself in great danger."

Sandra felt her cheeks warm. "Uh … it was nothing," she mumbled awkwardly. "Uhm … what'll happen to you after Yosuf dies?"

"I will be placed in stasis until a suitable host can be found," Garshaw said. "I will miss Yosuf. Her gentleness and sense of humor. She enjoys … embracing your Colonel because it unsettles him."

Sandra chuckled, recalling his landed guppy expression the first time she'd kissed him. "Yeah; he's quite bashful in some ways," she agreed. "But … what happens if they can't find a host for you?"

"Then I will remain in stasis," Garshaw said, the combined voices sounding unhappy at the prospect. "If I were to take a host by force, I would be no better than the Goa'uld."

Her head nodded downward. "This is how we both feel, Sandra," Yosuf assured her.

"Check out who's back," Sandra teased lightly, clasping her friend's thin hand.

Yosuf smiled. "It is one of the symptoms of the final stage of my illness," she said. "I drift in and out of consciousness. Finally, I will simply not come back. It is no longer painful."

"Could I … speak to Garshaw for a moment?" Sandra asked.

"What troubles you, Sandra?" Garshaw asked.

_Way to beat around the bush_, Sandra mused. "What if … what if you had a host here?"

"There are no non-blended humans here besides you and Colonel O'Neill," Garshaw said. "I believe that the Colonel would have to be at death's door before agreeing to a blending."

Sandra swallowed hard. "I wasn't thinking about Jack," she said. "I know the truth – you hate the idea of stasis, and I … even with your gizmo, I'll never be fit for active duty."

Garshaw regarded her steadily. "This is a big decision," she said. "I cannot blend with you, cure your injuries and leave. To do so would kill you."

"I understand," Sandra said. "But you need a host and I need to be useful. I'd just … wither away in a desk job." She clasped Yosuf's hand. "I'm ready when you are."

"This will be painful for you," Garshaw warned, "but you must try to suppress your urge to fight the contact."

"I'll try," Sandra said hesitantly. "What do I do?"

"Lean over and put your mouth to mine."

Sandra did so, then Yosuf's mouth opened and the symbiote shot out into Sandra's mouth. "Aaarrgh!" she gurgled as the symbiote made its way through the back of her throat. "Oh, God …". It was the weirdest sensation … not painful exactly, but not comfortable either. "Goodbye, my dear friend," she heard her voice and Garshaw's say.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Jack paced in the center chamber, worried about Sandra. She'd seen so much sorrow in her short life, and he was afraid that this tragedy would pitch her over the edge.

"Hey, Jack, she'll be okay," Jacob said. "She's a tough kid."

"Yeah, but even tough kids have their breaking points," Jack said. "She's also gentle and vulnerable – she doesn't need to be hurt again."

Jacob raised his eyebrows. "I hadn't realized you were such good friends," he commented.

"I'm in love with her, Jacob," Jack admitted, "and I think she feels the same way about me."

"Then go to her," Jacob said. "She'll need all your support as she adjusts to what's happened to her."

Sandra appeared suddenly, her eyes red with crying. "She's gone," she said.

Jack opened his arms and she walked into the hug. "Oh, geez; I'm sorry," he offered, stroking her back.

In front of him, Jacob's eyes widened. "Holy Hannah!" he blurted out.

"Not now, Jacob!" Sandra snapped. She tucked her hand into Jack's. "Jack; can we go someplace private and talk? There's … something I have to tell you." She was crying unashamedly now.

"What?" he asked.

"There was no other way … Yosuf was dying … I was about to be kicked off active duty …". She buried her face into her hands. "I'm sorry!"

Suddenly her head snapped up. And her eyes glowed brightly.

Jack stumbled backward. "Holy shit …"

"I am Garshaw of Belote," the Tok'ra said. "Sandra has graciously offered to become my host, but is very upset at Yosuf's passing."

"Offered?" Jack practically yelled. "You guilted her into it. She's just a kid, has her whole life ahead of her, then you …". He ran his hands through his hair. "Ah, damn. I was gonna ask her to marry me. I love her."

"And she loves you, Colonel," Garshaw replied, "but she would not have been happy pushing papers, chained to a desk."

Jack knew that, but he couldn't accept what was going on. "She should have talked to me, at least!" he snapped.

"You would have dissuaded her from this action," Garshaw pointed out.

"Damn right I would've!" Jack said.

"Then you would have been happy. But what about Sandra? You care for her well-being."

"Sure. That goes without saying."

"Then try to accept this change," Garshaw said. "She will live for a long time yet, strong and healthy, just as you love in her." A flash of mischief appeared in her eyes. "You can still have fights with her – she is a strong, stubborn person."

Jack surprised himself with the short laugh. "Yeah; she doesn't do a damn thing she doesn't want to do," he conceded. "Can I … talk to her now?"

"No yelling?"

"No yelling," Jack promised.

Sandra's head bobbed down then she favored him with a weak smile. "Hey, fly-boy," she said.

"Hey, jarhead," he replied. He brushed a tear from her soft cheek. "So … you're a snake-head now, huh?"

"Yeah – weird feeling," Sandra said. She curved her fingers around his jaw. "I would've said yes," she told him. "I love you … but my place is here. I can do good here – kick some serious Goa'uld butt."

"Once a Marine, always a Marine, huh?" Jack joked lamely.

She smiled. "Something like that." She produced an envelope. "Will you give this to General Hammond? It's my resignation."

Jack took the envelope as Jacob moved out of the chamber to give them some privacy. "I will," he said, "but this better not be goodbye."

"Not a chance, fly-boy. You don't get rid of me that easily." She ran her hands up his chest then wrapped herself around him, kissing him hungrily. "I'll be back – you think I'm gonna miss out on this?" she added, pressing up against him.

* * *

Sandra watched as Jack pressed the keys on the DHD to dial back to Earth. **_Nice physique_**, Garshaw commented.

**_Yeah; understatement of the century_**, Sandra shot back. **_I'm going to miss him._** Yet this sense of unity she had with Garshaw felt right. They'd only been together for two days, but they seemed to complement each other. Both were strong-willed, but Garshaw's age and experience provided a neat counterpoint for Sandra's hotheaded approach to life.

Sandra smiled gratefully as her fellow Tok'ra stepped back a few paces to give her and Jack some privacy. "So …," she said, tucking her arm through his as he hit the final symbol and activated the device.

The wormhole whooshed out. "So …," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders, "I guess this is it. For a while, anyway."

"Yeah." A tear sprang into her eye, and she traced his cheekbones with her fingertips. "I'm gonna miss you. For an Air Force guy, you're okay."

"You're not bad either, for a jarhead," he teased lightly, burying his fingers in her hair and tilting her head up to his. Then he kissed her.

She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the moment, wrapping her leg around his thigh to pull them closer together. "Mmmm," she mumbled. Vaguely she heard Jacob's embarrassed cough and felt Garshaw's amusement, but she paid neither of them any attention.

They broke their clinch and Jack went red. Garshaw chuckled. **_Who would have thought the Colonel was so shy?_**, she teased. Although the symbiotes had no gender, it was very easy to think of Garshaw as female.

**_It's a shocker, ain't it?_**, Sandra returned, pressing a hard kiss to her fly-boy's lips. "Take care of yourself, fly-boy," she said.

He swatted her butt and she yelped. "I always do, jarhead."

Then he walked through the wormhole and out of her life …

Another tear pricked her eye, then another … and then the floodgates opened. "Oh, damn," she muttered.

Jacob crossed quickly to her and opened his arms. She fell gratefully into them, sobbing out her grief into the kindly older man's chest. "I didn't … know this would … hurt so bad!" she mourned, grieving for Jack, Yosuf and everyone else she'd lost.

Jacob patted her back uncomfortably then dropped a kiss onto her head. "It'll get better in time, kid," he said. "Besides, the Tok'ra and Tauri are allies – you and Garshaw are our leader. Therefore …"

"… I'll have reasons to go to Earth," Sandra finished for him, breaking into a wide smile. She stepped back from Jacob. "Let's go home," she added.

* * *

**Nine months later:**

Jacob burst into the chamber where Garshaw was catching up with correspondence. Although it was dangerous for cell leaders to meet, they carried out cautious correspondence to keep each cell apprised of activities amongst the System Lords. "What is it, Selmak?" she asked.

"I have received word from the Tauri," Selmak said. "Colonel O'Neill has gone missing."

Sandra took control and groaned. "Of all the annoying habits he had to develop, why this one?"

"Sandra?" Selmak said curiously.

"That makes it twice in the last six months," she complained. Months ago, Jack had fallen victim to an Ancient virus, and had agreed to a blending with Kanan. Kanan had then disappeared on a personal mission, and had abandoned Jack to the mercy of Ba'al when he was discovered.

Sandra's hand clenched into a fist. The Tok'ra and the Tauri had worked out pretty early where Jack was, but did not know how to free him. Eventually, he had stumbled out of Ba'al's fortress with a severe case of sarcophagus addiction. All he would say when pressed for details was; "I ended up rescuing an old girlfriend I never knew."

Amazingly enough, he hadn't blamed the Tok'ra for whatever had happened to him in Ba'al's palace of pain, although he was bitter toward Kanan. Sandra's fist clenched again. _Him and me both_, she mused. If she ever tracked Kanan down, he was in for a world of hurt.

She brought herself back to the issue at hand. "Do they know his last location?" she asked, gathering up her long dress as they headed to the teltak cruiser.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It took three weeks – three long weeks – of cruising, but they were able to home in on Jack's GDO. "Prepare for landing," Garshaw ordered.

"And bring the healing device – he and his companion may be injured," Sandra added.

Sandra headed out of the teltak armed with a ribbon device – she found herself missing her P90. The past ten months had been so busy that she'd had little time for homesickness, but it came in full force as she saw a shock of silver hair. Jack.

She hurried over to his side. His leg had been skewered with something and his eyes … he was higher than a group of hippies! "Hey-y-y," he drawled, not seeming to recognize her. "Told ya, Harry – told ya the Tok'ra would find us."

Sandra swept the area, but could find no hallucinogens in the atmosphere. He must have ingested whatever jolly jelly was working on him. She dipped her head, allowing Garshaw to take control then slipped the healing device onto her hand.

"Be still, Colonel," Garshaw ordered, activating the device whilst Sirena did the same for Jack's companion; a small dark-haired man. The man sat up and groaned, pushing a hand through his hair.

"Colonel Maybourne?" Sandra nearly dropped the healing device. The last she knew, this guy had been on Death Row under charges of treason. She'd heard rumors that he'd escaped, but hadn't paid attention to them. He'd been in a maximum security cell, but she supposed that the head of the NID would have all sorts of tricks up his sleeve.

The man looked alarmed. "I'm not going back!" he protested, his eyes wild. "Jack; you promised!"

Jack – still up in loopy land – ruffled Maybourne's hair with an easy grin. "Relax, Harry – you've been through enough," he said.

* * *

**Eighteen months later:**

Brigadier General Jack O'Neill watched as the Amazon women, led by Ishta, went back through the wormhole. He was glad they were leaving – Ishta, especially. She was beautiful, strong and sexy – but she scared the hell out of him.

He backed away quickly as Mister Ed snorted near him. He hated horses. "Can it, horse breath!" he said.

"He likes you, sir," his 2IC offered.

Jack glared at her. "Thank you, Colonel."

Carter grinned then headed off to her lab. No matter how high up the ranks she got, Jack had the feeling her love affair with her doohickeys would never end.

He returned to his office, returning the snippy salute his aide gave him. Quite how a salute managed to be snippy he wasn't sure, but Lieutenant Fox managed it.

Jack sighed deeply, wondering how he'd managed to get saddled with Fox. Oh, right … his father was the senator in charge of Appropriations. God save him from politics and nepotism. Kids riding in on Mommy or Daddy's coat-tails … He pulled a face.

Not that having connections automatically made one useless. Carter's dad had been a Major General, and she was the best 2IC he'd ever had. Then Kinsey's nephew had worked hard on SG-8, wiping out his Academy record. The kid could have gone far, but had been killed on board the Prometheus during Anubis' last attack.

And as for General Ryan's grand-daughter … Jack's mouth relaxed into a smile as he thought of the petite blonde. They hadn't seen each other since she'd rescued him and Maybourne from the trippy planet.

The journey back to Earth was long, even in hyperspace, but they'd found ways to entertain themselves. The smile grew broader as he remembered …

* * *

**Flashback:**

"A-a-a-a-h." Jack surfaced reluctantly, his head pounding like he'd been on a week-long bender and his throat as rough as cactus.

A slim blonde woman sashayed into … wherever he was. "You're awake," she pronounced.

"Sandra?" he croaked.

Sandra nodded. "Welcome back to reality, Jack," she said. "How d'you feel?"

"Peachy," he grumbled. "Thirsty."

She smiled then swayed over to a pitcher and glass. She poured him some water and handed the glass to him. "Take it easy," she cautioned, putting a cool little hand to his face. "You were pretty much out of it by the time we got you to the teltak. And that leg injury was a nasty one."

She pulled back the sheet, at which point Jack realized that he was only wearing Air Force issue shorts. He went red, but reminded himself that she'd seen him completely naked many times.

She put a hand on his thigh, checking his wound. "It's healing well," she said, satisfied. "We cleared the gangrenous area, and you're strong and very healthy – you'll be fine. Are you hungry?"

His stomach rumbled. "Starving," he confessed. She smiled then sat down next to him, pressing her cheek to his forehead. He raised his eyebrows, taking in her scent – herbs, spices and something sweet that was unique to Sandra.

"Your fever's broken," Sandra announced. "Your BDUs are being cleaned, but there are some spare clothes. Can you manage?"

"Of course I can!" Jack said indignantly. She was being so sweet and motherly – when all he wanted to do was push her under him and ravage her. He allowed her to help him off of the bed, glad that his legs chose to cooperate, then made his way over to the clothes. "You look good," he offered awkwardly as he pulled the linen-like garments on.

Sandra chuckled. "Of course," she said. "Garshaw keeps me in excellent health."

Oh yeah; the snake. Better be polite. "And … uh … how is Garshaw?" he asked.

Sandra's head dipped then her eyes flashed. "I am well also, Colonel," Garshaw said, "although it was an adjustment at first. Sandra is by far the shortest of all my hosts." She smiled suddenly. "She did not appreciate that," she added.

"So … uh … you actually talk to her when you're in control?" Jack asked. Even after five years, there was so much he still didn't know about the Tok'ra.

"Of course," Garshaw said, a hint of 'silly boy' in her tone. "And she talks to me when she has control. It is a true symbiosis. And I have grown to love her, even with all her flaws."

Her head nodded downward then Sandra grinned at Jack. "I'll get her for that," she said. "I suppose you'd like some food now?" she inquired.

"Oh, yeah," he said.

* * *

Later in the day – or was it night? Who knew in space? – Sandra walked with Jack back to his quarters. "Uh … you wanna come in for a bit?" he asked.

She smiled and feathered kisses across his jaw. "I thought you'd never ask, fly-boy," she said. She swung open the door and preceded him in – he couldn't help admiring the sway of her hips. She seemed to be a lot more serene now and whilst he enjoyed the sensuality, he found that he missed the bouncy energetic mini Marine he'd fallen in love with.

Sandra sighed and stretched her arms, then unclipped her hair. It had grown in the last ten months, and now touched the enticing curve of her rear. "Oh, that's better," she sighed, running her fingers through the locks, tinted a lighter blonde by the desert suns of her adopted home planet.

He crossed over to her and put his hand on her hair. It was still incredibly soft, and she was as beautiful as ever. She curled her hand around his then touched his face with her free hand. "I've missed you, Jack," she said quietly.

She sat down on the bed. "So! Tell me what's goin' down in the life of Jack O'Neill besides spending a month on a moon-size version of Woodstock?"

"Ah, same old, same old," he said. "Jonas is shaping up. Bit over-eager sometimes, but he's a good kid."

Sandra smiled. "I'm glad you've accepted him."

"It took a while," Jack admitted. "I only put him on the team because Hammond threatened to put a Russian on. Even Jonas was better than a Russian." He grinned. "But he proved himself when Anubis' mothership appeared in orbit."

"I bet that caused a lot of running around at NORAD and the SGC," she commented.

"You have no idea," he said.

"Uh, I think I do. I was a Marine Corps Captain, remember?" she mocked gently.

Jack grimaced. "Jarhead." He sat down next to her.

"Fly-boy," she retorted. "So …?"

"A few weeks ago, Thor abducted us for a mission against the Replicators, along with about twenty kilos of Ben & Jerry's." He smiled at the memory of Jonas and Teal'c stuffing themselves – she would've enjoyed that part of the mission. "Anyway, Carter pulled a miracle out as usual, and those bugs are locked up safe for thousands of years."

"Thor – the Supreme Commander of the Asgard fleet?" Sandra asked. "That Thor?"

Jack shrugged. "What can I say – those little gray guys love me."

"You are pretty lovable," Sandra agreed, resting her head on his shoulder and snaking an arm around his waist. She squeezed him. "You've lost a few," she commented. "You didn't need to."

No. He'd lost about ten pounds more than he could spare, thanks to his sojourn at Ba'al's wellness club … He slapped the thought down. "Ah, the doc's a slave-driver," he slandered. "But I'm working out a lot with Teal'c."

"That explains this, then," she said, putting her hand on his abdomen. "Your six-pack."

His stomach quivered in response to her touch, and feelings he'd buried for nearly a year came roaring back to life. He shifted to face her, then put his hands to her face and kissed her hungrily.

She smiled. "Hmmm," she mused. "Nice. But I think we can do better than that, don't you?"

Jack raised his eyebrows. _Oh, yeah. Bring it on!_

**End flashback**

* * *

"General?"

Jack snapped out of the erotic memories and saw that his 2IC was in front of him, her blue eyes wide with apprehension. Since his experience with the Lost City of the Ancients, people seemed to be watching him a lot, expecting him to wig out any moment. "Yeah," he said, a little more harshly than he'd intended.

"We're receiving the Tok'ra IDC," she told him.

Geez! When had the 'gate activated? _Get a grip, O'Neill – you're losing it!_ He picked up the phone. "Open the iris!" he ordered.

The iris circled and Jacob Carter and several other Tok'ra stepped onto the ramp. "Dad …," Carter breathed.

After seven years, Jack and Carter sometimes did not need to communicate in words. "You want to welcome our guests, Carter?" he asked.

Carter grinned then headed out of the office at near light speed. Since the collapse of the alliance last year, they'd seen nothing of the Tok'ra, and he knew Sam had missed her father.

Jack also missed a certain blonde Tok'ra, but he was CO of the biggest secret base in America's history. He couldn't indulge his feelings.

* * *

Sandra walked down the ramp behind Jacob, smiling as Sam flew into his arms. Behind her came Teal'c – who now had hair – and a young man with dark hair and glasses who looked awfully familiar. _Doctor Jackson?_ Eyes narrowed, she examined him. The hair had undergone a radical pruning and he'd bulked up in a way that rather suited him. But … he was dead.

Doctor Jackson – or his doppelganger – peered back at her. "Do I know you?" he asked.

Sandra dipped her head and allowed Garshaw to take control. "You knew my previous host, Yosuf," Garshaw said. "I am Garshaw of Belote."

"It's good to see you again," Doctor Jackson said politely. "I was sorry to hear about Yosuf."

"I thought you had died?" Garshaw queried. **_Oh, very tactful!_**, Sandra said snidely.

The linguist put his hand through his hair, and Sandra realized just how good looking he was. He didn't hold a candle to her favorite fly-boy of course, but he was very attractive. "That's a long story," he said. "I went … away for a while, but I'm back now."

Teal'c bent his head to Sandra. "Garshaw of Belote," he said. "You are looking well."

Sandra reasserted herself. "You do as well, Teal'c." She wrapped her fingers as far as she could around his meaty forearm and he did the same. "Tek matté," she greeted.

"Tek ma'tek," he replied.

Something felt … off, but Sandra couldn't figure it out. **_He has no prim'ta_**, Garshaw told her. **_He must be using the tretonin._**

_Ah._ Sandra pulled a face, recalling the scandal that had occurred when the Tok'ra had learned that a race called the Pangarans were keeping Egeria alive in order to breed symbiotes for medicine. Egeria had deliberately altered her offspring's DNA in order to halt the experiments, but they had continued until she'd died shortly after blending with Kelmaa.

"Captain Ryan," Teal'c said now, jerking her thoughts back to the present, "I apologize if my taking the tretonin upsets you, but I gave my prim'ta to Master Bra'tac. Without the tretonin, I would die."

"Well, at least something good came out of Egeria's plight," Sandra said. "The more Jaffa free from the Goa'uld larvae, the better."

"Indeed." The eyebrow ratcheted. "If you will excuse me, Captain Ryan, I must sleep now."

"Sleep?" Her own eyebrow ratcheted. "Can't you do your kelno'reem anymore?"

"No," Teal'c said bluntly, evidently not wishing to be questioned further. "I bid you good night."

"G'night, Teal'c."

"Captain Ryan?" Doctor Jackson queried. "You're human? From Earth, I mean?"

"Born in Louisiana," Sandra informed him, wondering why one of the SFs flinched. She knew that non-blended humans sometimes had trouble accepting the Tok'ra – she'd been one of them at first – but this dislike appeared to be personal. "Scuse me, Doctor Jackson," she said.

She went over to the SF – a rather large Marine – and glared at him. "You have a problem, Marine?" she asked, then looked at him more closely. **_Are you all right, Sandra?_**, Garshaw queried anxiously.

**_Peachy_**, Sandra shot back. She put a hand up to the Marine's face. "Daddy?" she quavered.

Gabe nodded his head, tears shimmering in his blue eyes. "Hello, baby," he said shakily then let out a grunt as one hundred pounds of Tok'ra flung her arms around him.

"Daddy," Sandra breathed, pulling back from the hug to look at her stepfather. He hadn't changed much in the last ten years – a little grayer, perhaps, and his skin glowed with pink-cheeked health, but he was as big and handsome as she remembered. "When did you join the Marines?"

"About five years ago," he said, a slight smile on his face that certainly was a departure from the big confident grin she remembered. "I'm a little older than the average recruit, but I've worked hard."

Sandra nodded. She'd never really thought of Gabe as a fighter – he was inherently very gentle – but when someone was that big … "I served with the Marines too, Daddy," she said, "before I blended with Garshaw. Like father, like daughter, huh?"

"I've … uh … never met any Tok'ra before," Gabe said. "I only started here six months ago, after the alliance collapsed. But I've come across the Goa'uld."

**_We are not Goa'uld!_**, Garshaw insisted angrily.

**_Oh, hush_**, Sandra retorted. "Essentially, they're the same species, but they have fundamental differences in their ideologies. They believe in working with the hosts. The Tok'ra contribute their memories, experiences and superior health, whilst the host brings their own experiences to the blending." She chuckled slightly. "We also provide a nice comfy brain-stem."

**_You wait, Sandra_**, Garshaw threatened with a laugh.

"Uh, yeah …," Gabe said. "Look; I know sorry will never be enough, but … will you write me occasionally? I'd like to get to know you again. No pressure."

She touched her father's cheek – he wasn't her father by blood, but he was more of a father than Max Ryan had ever been. "Of course I will," she said. "And I'll come to Earth some time."

A Marine strode into the embarkation room – a giant Marine. "Okay, grunt; eighty six the chat!" he snarled. "Your shift's over – get your butt out of here!"

Sandra grinned and marched up to the Marine. "You got a problem, Lieutenant?" she asked. "Can't a girl visit with her father?"

The Lieutenant's jaw dropped. "Captain Ryan?" he said, picking her up and hugging the stuffing out of her. "I knew the Tok'ra were comin', but I didn't think you'd be one of 'em!"

"Put me down, Weinstein," she ordered with a laugh. Major Harris had sometimes teased her that the gigantic Marine had a crush on her, but she'd only had eyes for Jack. Speaking of who … "Where'll I find O'Neill?" she asked.

"In the CO's office," Weinstein said, putting her down.

"Thanks. I'll go visit with him. Good to see you again, Weinstein." She tucked her hand through her father's arm and led out of the embarkation room. "I'll be here for a couple days," she told him. "Will you have any free time?"

"I'm off duty tomorrow night," Gabe said shyly. "We could go out to dinner."

"That'd be good," Sandra said. "We've got a lot of catching up to do."

* * *

Jack slapped the last file into the out tray. He hated paperwork, and sometimes wondered why he'd allowed the brass to kick him upstairs.

His aide appeared. "A member of the Tok'ra wishes to see you, General," he said.

"Show 'em in, Lieutenant," he ordered. Try as he might, he just couldn't be civil to the little snot.

"Yes, sir."

"General, huh?" a familiar voice drawled. "Coming up in the world, aren't we, fly-boy?"

Sandra! His jaw dropped. She looked … beautiful. She'd retained her slender curves, but had put on a couple pounds round the hips and bust, making her look more overtly sexy. He wanted to hug her, but knew his aide was outside. "Yeah," he said. He waved her to one of the seats. "Hammond's based at the Pentagon now, so I'm CO of this whole schmeer."

"Good for you," Sandra said, brushing a wicked kiss to his neck. "I've missed you, Jack."

"Yeah; I've missed you, too," he replied. "Can I get you something – tea, coffee?"

Her eyes lit up. "The Tok'ra have a lot going for them, but it's been over two years since I've tasted coffee," she said.

"Lieutenant?" Jack called. His aide appeared. "Can you get us two coffees; black, no sugar?"

"Yes, sir," Fox said and disappeared.

"Jumped up little runt," Sandra commented. "Who's his daddy?"

Jack grinned. Damn, he'd missed her! "Senator Fox; head of Appropriations."

"It figures," she drawled. "You know; he kept me waiting for twenty minutes before deigning to tell you I was here? I got the feeling he doesn't like the Tok'ra very much."

Jack would put up with a lot, but bigotry was something that he would not tolerate. "Is that an official complaint?" he said. "Screw politics – I've got nearly enough to take him down."

Sandra chuckled. "Knock yourself out," she said, "but d'you mind if I have a little fun first?"

"What're you gonna do?" he asked.

"I want you to introduce me by my full name and rank," she said. "If I read that jumped up little twerp right, he'll pee his pants."

Jack smiled. "I love it," he said.

The door opened to admit Lieutenant Fox, who brought the coffees in. "Will there be anything else, sir?" he asked.

"Just a minute, Lieutenant – you haven't been formally introduced," Jack said. "Lieutenant Robert Fox; meet Captain Sandra Ryan, US Marine Corps."

Fox's eyes widened. "C-Captain?" he stuttered.

"That's right, Lieutenant," Sandra said. She winked at Jack and mouthed 'play along'. He nodded and she carried on. "I was just saying to General O'Neill that the Tok'ra regret the collapse of the alliance. We have come to recruit more hosts – as … back-ups, if you will – to prevent the demise of the Tok'ra." She turned to Jack, who watched with barely hidden delight as Fox went pale. "I believe that Lieutenant Fox would be an excellent host. Young, healthy and intelligent."

She sashayed over to Fox, who looked like he was about to have a heart attack, and put a hand to his cheek. Hussy. "So, what do you think, Lieutenant?"

Fox stepped backward. "I … uh … I have to go," he said, nearly ripping the door from its hinges in his attempt to get away.

Sandra dropped into the seat. "Maybe that was a bit mean," she said, "but it did the trick."

Jack laughed. "Damn, jarhead; I've missed you," he said.

* * *

Sandra bounced along the hallways, enjoying the caffeine buzz. It had been two years since she'd had coffee, but for her it was a love affair that would never end.

She headed into the locker room to freshen up and paused as she could hear laughter. "Yeah; those three are gorgeous!" a woman said. "No woman has a chance with them around!"

"And two of them aren't military, so no frat regs," a tall redhead purred. "I'd love to make some sweet music with Teal'c. Those arms and that chest!"

A brunette laughed. "Oh, it's Daniel for me," she said. "The shy, sensitive type with a bod to die for."

"Yeah; I don't remember him being so fine before he … uh, did his thing," the redhead said.

"He's been working out with Teal'c and General O'Neill a lot," a blonde woman offered.

"Mmmm," the redhead said. "The silver fox. If it wasn't for regulations, I would've jumped his bones a long time ago."

"Really?" Sandra asked curiously, joining the oversexed trio at the sinks.

"Hey, you're Tok'ra!" the blonde said.

"Bingo," Sandra responded.

"This area's for military personnel only," the redhead said.

"Oh, I'm that too," Sandra said. Technically she'd resigned years ago, but as with all the forces there was a reserve activation clause in her contract. "Sandra Ryan, Marine Corps."

"So; what's it like?" the brunette asked.

"What's what like?" Sandra replied absently, running a comb through her hair.

"Being … you know … a snake-head."

"It's hard to put into words," Sandra said thoughtfully. "I get Garshaw's wisdom and experience, plus she keeps me in excellent health. And I'm never alone."

"Well, I couldn't do it," the brunette said.

"Yeah; that's what I thought a few years ago," Sandra said, "but it's one of the best things that ever happened to me."

**_Thank you_**, Garshaw commented happily.

"So … you got a thing for General O'Neill?" Sandra asked the redhead.

The woman looked at her as if she were a few bricks shy. "Uh … yeah," she said. "What's not to like? Tall, built, and those eyes."

A knock on the door interrupted the chick-chat. "Hey, no-one's naked in there, I hope!" came Jack's voice.

"Just give me two seconds," the redhead muttered, causing her friends to laugh.

"Come in," Sandra said and smiled as her favorite fly-boy strolled in. "Hey," she said.

"Hi," he replied. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah," Sandra said, gleefully aware of the women's interest.

**_How do you want to play this?_**, Garshaw asked.

_**Well, I could be dignified, or we could give them a show. Personally, I'm up for the show if you are.**_

Garshaw chuckled. **_Tauri humor – I love it!_**

Sandra wrapped her arms around Jack's neck, pulling his head down to hers. Then she kissed him deeply. "Raring to go," she said huskily, "my silver fox."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Months passed. The war against the System Lords escalated. Thousands of Jaffa broke away from their former 'gods' to ally with the Tok'ra and the Tauri.

Sandra sighed, tapping her pen lightly against her teeth. **_What troubles you, Sandra?_**, Garshaw asked.

**_I'm restless_**, Sandra admitted. Since the war, contact with Earth had been minimal, and she missed Jack and the rest of SG-1. **_I miss my friends on Earth._**

**_Yes; it is painful being separated from one's lover_**, Garshaw returned. **_I empathize._**

Sandra grinned. **_You been holding out on me, Garshaw?_**

**_Selmak and I are mates_**, Garshaw admitted, **_but it has been many years since we had mutually compatible hosts._**

Selmak? Sandra suddenly understood why Jacob seemed to look at her so often. **_I'm sorry_**, she added.

"Sandra," Sirena said, entering Sandra's quarters, "the Tauri have recorded another victory against Anubis."

Sandra grinned. Upon Jonas's arrival on Earth, his gift of naquadria had been used to power the first human ships that could enter hyperspace; including the small fighters. Even Goa'uld gliders couldn't do that, as their version of the generators was too big for a glider. A human invention that Anubis couldn't get his hands on. "Let me guess," she said. "General O'Neill led the fight."

The man was one hell of a pilot. He could fly anything – from Death Gliders to motherships – and seemed to enjoy rubbing Anubis' nose in Earth's victories. Jack and Anubis had been a thorn in each other's side for years now.

Sirena returned the grin. "Indeed," she said.

Selmak entered the chamber and Sandra felt Garshaw's pleasure. **_Cool it, Garshaw._** "Hey, Selmak," Sandra said.

"We have received word from General O'Neill," Selmak said, his eyes boring into hers. "Your presence is requested on Earth – your father has been killed."

* * *

Jack O'Neill paced restlessly as he waited for the Tok'ra to show up. He knew that Sandra was going to take Gabe's death hard – on her last visit, they'd effected a reconciliation, and had conducted as much correspondence as possible.

"General," Carter … _Shanahan, dammit!_, he reminded himself … said. "Are you okay, sir?"

"Fine," he told his 2IC. "I'm just worried about Sandra," he admitted. He was not one for talking about his feelings, but something about the mini Marine had made him a little more open than he used to be.

His 2IC's eyes shadowed briefly then she smiled slightly. "Just be there for her, sir," she said, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder.

He patted her hand. "Thanks, Carter," he said, unable to get used to the change of name. Sam had married her cop a couple months ago, and they seemed happy.

She smiled at him. "You're welcome, General," she returned, slipping out of his office.

Knock-knock.

Damn it; another interruption? He was never going to get these fricking reports done! "Yeah!" he growled.

Daniel Jackson strolled in, oblivious to the admiring glance he received from Jack's new aide. Daniel had always had an effect on the ladies, but the interest had doubled over the last year as he'd begun to join Jack and Teal'c in their work-outs.

Jack sometimes forgot that the man wasn't actually a soldier. He worked his butt off, had saved Earth God knows how many times, and had gotten pretty handy with a P90 … A far cry from the bookish linguist Jack had dismissed as a 'dweeb' on their first mission to Abydos.

"Hey, Jack," Daniel said, shoving his glasses up his nose.

"Hey, Daniel – take a pew."

The younger man sat down. "Too bad about Corporal Goldman," he offered. "Have you told his daughter?"

"I've sent word to Jacob," Jack said. "He's going to get her here as soon as possible."

"I wish the circumstances were different, but I know you'll be glad to see Sandra again," Daniel said.

When had he become so transparent? "Yeah," Jack responded. He got up and slapped a file into his in tray. "You up for a trip to the commissary?"

"Sure," Daniel said.

Jack waved his friend in front of him, and stopped by his aide's desk. "I'll be out for about an hour, Lieutenant," he told her.

"Yes, sir," she responded pleasantly, tapping something into her computer.

* * *

**_Jacob …_**, Selmak said, **_she needs you._**

**_Selmak; I know you and Garshaw love each other, but it ain't gonna happen_**, Jacob Carter told his friend.

**_I know_**, Selmak admitted, **_but she needs your friendship._**

Jacob looked over at Sandra's tiny form, her fists up to her mouth to check the sobs. _Ah, damn._ He crossed over to her and plucked her out of the chair. "Come on, Sandra," he said, pulling her into a gentle hug.

"It's not fair …," she quavered. "We just found each other again." Her eyes shimmered, then the tears fell, and she buried her head in Jacob's chest, allowing herself to grieve.

Jacob patted her back awkwardly, ignoring the pleasure Selmak felt at the contact with Garshaw. "Go on – cry," he said gruffly. "You'll feel better." She was a good kid, and she'd been through a lot in the last few years.

Slowly, the sobbing eased off, and she pulled away from him. "Thanks, Jacob," she said, aiming a watery smile at him. "You're such a nice guy – how've you managed to stay single so long?"

"The right woman hasn't come along?" he offered lightly. "Besides, who has time for the singles scene? We have a war to fight."

"Ah, there's the Major General we all know and love," she said with a slightly wider smile. "You hard-ass military types …". She shook her head. "Maybe it's time I did my nosy intrusive yenta bit and started looking around."

Jacob could literally feel his cheeks blanch. "Not on your life," he said.

She chuckled slightly. "You win!" she said. "Anyway, we'd better head to Earth – I've got to wind up Daddy's affairs." She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Jacob – you're a good friend," she added.

She headed out of the chamber, leaving Jacob to follow slowly. **_Interesting_**, Selmak commented.

**_What?_**, Jacob returned.

**_When did your feelings toward her change?_**, Selmak asked.

**_Say what?_**, Jacob said. **_I've hugged her many times_**, he pointed out.

He could almost hear the rolling of Selmak's eyes. **_I have known you a long time, Jacob_**, his symbiote said. **_Your heart rate and blood pressure increased, and your hormones became charged._**

Damn. Jacob Carter scrubbed his hands over his face. Selmak was right. When the hell had he fallen for her? And why? He was thirty years older than her, for God's sake!

**_It doesn't matter_**, he told Selmak. **_She and Jack are still in love – and I'm happy for them._**

**_Really?_**, Selmak replied skeptically.

**_Really_**, Jacob said. **_He'd just better treat her right, or I'll kill him._**

Selmak chuckled. **_And you say you don't care for her?_**, she derided.

* * *

"Receiving Tok'ra IDC," Sergeant Harriman announced.

"Open the iris," Jack said, then headed down to the embarkation room. He nodded at SG-1 as they waited with him. "Hey, kids," he said casually.

Sam was now the CO with Teal'c as her (non-military) 2IC. Daniel was still the linguist/archeologist, and Lieutenant Jennifer Hailey – all four foot nine of her – had joined recently as the team's fourth. The girl was almost freakishly clever, but she'd lost some of the attitude she'd had at the Academy.

The wormhole whooshed out then settled back, glinting invitingly. Several people stepped out, Jacob and Sandra at the forefront, and walked down the ramp.

Sandra's eyes were red with crying, but she seemed composed. She crossed over to him. "Hey, fly-boy."

He nodded his head. "Hi," he said gently, realizing almost immediately that her control was tenuous. God knows he wasn't the most clued-in guy, but he'd learned to read Sandra's face a long time ago. "Jacob," he added to his friend, who'd given his daughter a hug, and now stood protectively next to Sandra.

"Jack," Jacob returned. His head dipped. "Congratulations on your victory against Anubis," Selmak added.

Jack smiled slightly. One of the pitifully few good things to come out of the escalation of hostilities was that he'd returned to active duty. It was unusual for a General to do fieldwork, but the Air Force had decided that they couldn't sideline one of their best pilots simply because he had stars on his shoulders instead of birds. "Yeah," he said, enjoying the gloat.

Sandra crossed over to Lieutenant Hailey. "Lieutenant," she said. "Seeing as the General has no manners, shall we introduce ourselves?"

Hailey resisted a grin at her CO's outraged face. "I'm Jennifer Hailey," she said. "I'm sorry about your father."

Sandra's eyes shimmered with tears then her head dipped. "Thank you, Lieutenant," Garshaw said.

Jack stepped over to his still favorite jarhead. "Sandra; uh … you need to … uh … identify …". _Real articulate, General O'Neill!_

Sandra nodded her head quickly. "Yeah," she said gruffly. Her large gray eyes pleaded up at him. "Would you … come with me? I can't … do this alone."

He would have had to be the worst kind of heel to resist the look in her eyes. "Of course," he said.

* * *

Sandra walked into the Infirmary with Jack's solid comforting presence by her side, and did a double take as the CMO rose to greet them. Janet Fraiser had died more than a year ago, but Sandra had been subconsciously expecting to see the petite redhead behind the desk.

"General," the CMO said crisply.

"Doc," Jack replied. "This is Captain Ryan."

"Ah, yes." The CMO's harsh features softened. "If you'll follow me, Captain …"

Sandra squared her shoulders, then felt Jack give her hand a reassuring squeeze. She linked her fingers with his, feeling herself fall in love with him all over again.

They stepped into the mortuary and she shivered. The CMO pulled out one of the drawers. "Captain?" he invited gently, pulling a corner of the sheet back.

Steeling herself, Sandra went over to the … body. _Oh, God …_ She stuffed her fists into her eyes and nodded her head.

"Captain; I need verbal confirmation," the CMO pressed.

**_Garshaw?_**, Sandra pleaded. **_I can't handle this._**

**_I understand_**, Garshaw returned gently, then took control. "This is Gabriel Goldman," Garshaw said.

The CMO looked a little taken aback then nodded his head. "Thank you," he said, making a notation on his file. "That's all I need."

Garshaw relinquished control to Sandra. She touched her fingers to Gabe's cold cheeks. "Goodbye, Daddy," she whispered. "I hope you've found peace at last."

She covered her father's face with the sheet then headed out of the mortuary.

* * *

Sandra sat on Jack's couch, hugging her knees to her chest, her eyes wide and strained. They'd returned from Arlington National Cemetery several hours earlier after Gabe's funeral, and she hadn't said a word.

Jack walked out of the kitchen bearing a large mug of hot chocolate, and handed it to her. "There you go, kid," he said.

She took the mug and had a small sip. A faint smile appeared on her lips. "Thanks, fly-boy," she said quietly.

He sat down next to her, unsure whether she would welcome a hug. She needed one badly, but he was afraid that it would demolish her fragile control.

She took another sip of the hot sweet liquid. "It's good," she offered, staring morosely into space. "Gabe …". She bit her lip then carried on. "Gabe used to make me hot chocolate in the winter."

Her eyes filled and Jack's crusty-General persona fled. _Aw, dammit._ He took the mug out of her stiff fingers, put it on the table then opened his arms. "Sandra," he invited gruffly.

Her lower lip trembled then she fell into his embrace, crying her eyes out. He rubbed her back as she sobbed and mumbled her grief into his chest, and pressed a gentle kiss into her soft blonde hair.

Eventually she sat back, wiping her eyes with a shaky hand. "Thank you, Jack," she said. She put her hand on his chest, and his heart pounded at the innocent contact. No matter how long they were apart, his passion for her didn't abate. "I got your shirt soggy," she added.

Jack shrugged. "It'll dry," he said. "You can't bottle this stuff up indefinitely – trust me." During her last visit, he'd shared with her what had happened to Charlie. She'd listened quietly, her arms around him, then she'd pulled his head to her shoulder, allowing him to cry for the first time in years.

She smiled at him. "Yeah," she admitted. "Could I … could I stay here tonight? I can't face going back to the base just yet."

"Sure," he said. "Mi casa es su casa." He got up and headed up to the spare bedroom to fix up the bed.

When he came back into the living room, there was no sign of her. He frowned. Where was she? There was no activity in the kitchen, which meant his Rocky Road was unmolested.

He loped back up the stairs and froze as he saw his bedroom light was on. He went in.

Sandra lay in his king-size bed, her smooth shoulders bare. He'd bet anything she was naked. "Hey," she said.

_Speak, O'Neill, you jerk!_ "Hey," he said.

"I don't want to be alone tonight," she said. She sat up, the sheet falling to her waist, and held out her hand. "Please?" she added.

"Okay," he said, _But no monkey business!_, he told his inner beast. She needed the comfort of another body, not a hormone-crazed fly-boy.

He went and changed into tee shirt and shorts, then got into the bed next to her, drawing her into a gentle hug. She traced a pattern on his tee shirt. "Not that I don't think your Homer shirt is cute, but you're a bit overdressed, aren't you?"

"Uh … I don't think it's a good time," he said.

She slipped her hands under his tee shirt, tracing the same pattern on his chest. She smiled as his heart pounded, then said, "I want this." She sat up and ruthlessly pulled his shirt over his head, then kissed him hungrily.

* * *

Sandra woke up wrapped in Jack's strong arms. Her fly-boy. She studied his features, surprisingly boyish in sleep. His hair was now completely gray, but for her that just added to his appeal. Talk about a silver fox!

Her silver fox opened one brown eye, staring at her blearily. "What?" he said.

"Nothing," Sandra said innocently, stretching her arms high above her head and noting that his eyes fixed on a point somewhere south of her chin.

He'd been a complete gentleman last night – not wanting to take advantage of her distress – and she loved that about him. But sometimes a woman needed a little bit of caveman.

She put her lips to his, ruffling her fingers through his hair. His arms snaked around her waist. "I've missed you," he said gruffly when they came up for air.

She squeezed his hand. "Yeah; I've missed you, too. But …"

"You have to take off?" he groaned.

"It's not safe for you having me here," Sandra said. "Between us, we've pissed Anubis off a million times. And then there's Garshaw … he'd love nothing better than to get his greasy hands on her."

Sandra put her hand on his chest. "It might be a while before I can get back," she said. "We've got much more …" – she trailed her hand up his leg – "interesting things to do than fight.

Jack grinned at her. "Geez, Sandra; I'm gettin' on a bit. Ya wanna kill me?"

Sandra whooped with laughter. Except for his gray hair, he looked about five years younger than his actual age. "Oh, you'll outlive us all – the grouchy ones always do!"

"Hey!" He slapped her lightly on the rear. "No cheek from you, Captain!"

"Yes sir, Brigadier General, sir!" she laughed, capturing his lips with her own.

God, he tasted so good; a combination of toothpaste and … vanilla pound cake, she thought. The way the guy inhaled the stuff, he should have had a real gut by now. He'd filled out over the years, but it had not turned to flab. His shoulders were broad and strong, his chest firmly muscled, and his stomach taut and flat.

"Mmmmmm," she said. "Even better than chocolate."

He chuckled at that. "That's some compliment, lady!" he said.

Sandra returned the laugh then nuzzled into his neck. "You know I love you, right?" she said.

"I know," he said gently, the deep brown eyes softening. He cupped her cheek with a work-roughened palm then brushed a sweet soft kiss onto her lips. Not passionate, but tender and caring, filled with promise.

She understood – he was giving her the chance to change her mind, because of Gabe … A tear leaked out of he eye and she sniffled. _Oh God, Daddy!_

"C'mere," Jack said, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her head in against his neck. He and Jacob were so good at hugging her just right – made her feel safe and protected, yet not weak. But Jacob was like a father to her, while Jack … Jack was so not.

He rested his head against hers as she cried once again. "Oh, God … it's not fair!" she said. "Why do we never tell people how we feel till it's too late?"

Jack breathed in deeply and she knew he was struggling with his own feelings about Charlie. The man was so cheeky and self-confident, she sometimes forgot he buried a world of pain behind those amazing dark eyes. "Don't know, baby," he said roughly. He put a gentle finger under her chin and lifted it upward, kissing the tears away. "But it'll get better with time," he promised her.

Her heart pounded as she sucked in a deep gulp of air. She'd thought she loved Jack before this, but now … seeing his own vulnerability and his sweetness – yep; sweetness – her heart just melted. "C'mere, fly-boy," she said, pressing up against him and kissing him gently yet sensuously.

His hands went to her shoulders and he looked deep into her eyes. "You okay?" he asked, his voice rough with suppressed passion.

She shook her head. "No," she admitted. "But I will be."

* * *

Sandra strolled into the embarkation room, wincing as she saw a dark-haired SF in her father's customary spot. "Hi, Jacob," she said to her friend, who was hugging his daughter.

"Sandra," he returned somewhat stiffly. He gave Sam one more hug. "That's my cue to go, kiddo."

"I guess," Sam replied, pushing a hand through her short blonde hair. "Try not to leave so long between visits, huh, Dad?"

"Yeah," Jacob said.

"Hey, Jacob," Jack said, hurrying over to Sandra. "One of the SFs found this in your dad's locker. I figured you'd want it."

"Yeah," Sandra agreed, taking the package from him. A rather battered copy of the Torah and … a photograph of her, him and her mother in happier days. Her lips trembled – no; she wasn't going to cry in front of a bunch of jarhead SFs!

Jack brushed her cheek lightly with his palm. "So … come back soon, kid?" he said.

"You bet," Sandra replied, winking back the tears. "What say we make a real vacation out of my next trip? Maybe go down to Minnesota? I've never been there in the summer."

"I'd like that," he admitted. "You take care of yourself, jarhead."

"I always do, fly-boy," she assured him.

**_No; I take care of you_**, Garshaw commented with a laugh.

"I think Garshaw takes care of you more than you do," Jack said.

**_I always liked him_**, Garshaw said.

Sandra chuckled. "You're probably right," she admitted, putting her hands to his face. In deference to the fact that a gaggle of SFs was hanging around, she kissed him gently on the lips – much like their first kiss, she recalled. It was sometimes hard to believe she'd ever been that innocent.

* * *

Jack smiled as their lips met in a soft kiss. She was never very demonstrative in the embarkation room – probably because of the SFs – but she made up for it in private.

_Ah, the hell with it._ He wrapped his arms around her slim form and deepened the kiss. Her hands tangled in his hair and she responded with a ferocity that never ceased to amaze and delight him.

They broke apart and she fanned her face, going red as some of the SFs whistled. "Knock it off, jarheads!" she snapped.

Either because she was a Captain (retired) or he was their CO, the SFs suddenly found other things to occupy their attention. "Better," she muttered.

"Chevron seven … locked," Sergeant Harriman announced from the control room.

The wormhole appeared with its usual whoosh and Sandra sighed. "Well … guess it's that time," she said.

"Yeah," Jack agreed less than articulately. "Uh … can I speak to Garshaw?"

Sandra's eyes widened, then she dipped her head. Her eyes flashed, then Garshaw's voice issued. "Greetings, General," she said.

"Yeah, hi," he said. "I … uh … just wanted to thank you for taking such good care of Sandra."

A smile appeared on Sandra's face. "You are welcome, General," Garshaw said. "It is not an easy job at times, but she makes it worthwhile." She touched his hand. "You are a good man, Jack O'Neill. You have a bigger heart than you realize."

Jack didn't know what to say in response to that. "Uh … okay," was all that trickled from his usually glib mind.

* * *

Garshaw chuckled. "As my host would say; smooth, fly-boy, real smooth." She bowed slightly to him, then put her hands on his shoulders and pressed a firm kiss to each cheek.

_**Hey!**, Sandra laughed. **Hands off my fly-boy! That was Yosuf's trick.**_

Garshaw let her eyes linger over the human. **_He is an attractive man, no matter who my host is_**, she said. **_Besides, I like to set him on edge_**, she told the irate Sandra.

* * *

**Two months later:**

Sandra fell rather than lay down onto her bed and stretched her limbs. **_It's good to be home_**, she told Garshaw.

**_Indeed_**, Garshaw replied. **_I was concerned that you would kill Ba'al – that was not our mission._**

**_I know_**, Sandra said tiredly. **_I just … I can't look at that damn snake-head without remembering what he did to Jack._** Jack had never shared what had happened to him, but Sandra had been Tok'ra long enough to have a good idea.

This latest mission had involved her infiltrating Ba'al's fortress as a fellow Goa'uld keen to learn his methods of information extraction. She and Garshaw had watched as his victims were tortured with knives, acid and then were placed in that damn sarcophagus so the fun could start all over again.

**_I … hope you can forgive me_**, Garshaw said now. **_It is not our way to take over the host._**

**_I understand_**, Sandra reassured her friend. **_I would've blown our cover. I know Ba'al isn't to be killed yet, but I want to real bad._** She gave another sigh.

Jacob Carter strolled into the chamber. "Welcome back, Sandra," he said. They'd seen each other earlier when she'd arrived back on Bel'nath, but Garshaw had conducted the debriefing.

She smiled at him. "Hey, Jacob," she relied. "It's good to be back," she admitted.

"Are you up for our walk?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure," Sandra said. She got up from the bed and pulled on the jacket from her desert BDUs. As their friendship had developed, Jacob had begun to accompany her on her evening walks. He was very protective of her and she enjoyed his company. She smiled at him. "Let's roll!" she said.

They headed to the rings and shot up to the surface. The moons shone brightly and a light breeze ruffled her hair. "Oh, what a gorgeous night," she breathed, tucking her hand through Jacob's arm. The first time she'd done this, he'd started – typical hard-ass military type – but he now accepted her expressions of friendship.

"Yeah," Jacob said gruffly as they began a steady walk. They strolled along in silence; neither finding the need to talk. They'd long since moved past the uncomfortable feeling of Captain and General, and had become good friends.

* * *

As he accompanied the pretty blonde, Jacob was glad that she was in no mood to chat. He needed to think.

**_You think she is pretty?_**, Selmak asked.

**_Hey, I'm old, not dead_**, Jacob responded.

**_You are very young, Jacob_**, Selmak remarked. **_You have many years left and much to give. You should not remain unmated._**

**_Holy Hannah – I don't need you doing the nosy intrusive yenta bit on me! Sandra's bad enough_**, Jacob protested.

Selmak chuckled. **_You are resisting her efforts very nobly, my friend._**

**_Yeah_**, Jacob said wryly, **_I'm not up for being auctioned off on the Tok'ra marriage mart._**

"Jacob?" Sandra tugged on his arm, and he looked down at her. "Better," she said. "You were totally spaced out there. Chatting with Selmak?"

"Yeah," Jacob admitted sheepishly. "Out on a moonlit night with a pretty girl on my arm, and I spend it talking to a snake." **_Hah!_**, he directed at Selmak, feeling her indignation at the less than flattering description. "I don't know why you put up with me."

She patted his hand. "Oh, you're not so bad," she said with a laugh. "Especially since you've just described me as a pretty girl." She beamed up at him. "Tell me; do they teach charm in Generals school? You've got quite the silver tongue."

"Yeah; I'm a real teddy bear," Jacob responded wryly, wondering what his old Air Force buddies would say if they could see him now, walking with a really pretty young woman who seemed to enjoy his company. _Damn … it just sneaks up on ya!_, he groaned mentally.

**_What does?_**, Selmak replied.

**_Midlife crisis_**, Jacob informed her succinctly, now understanding why he'd been so drawn to the lovely little blonde for the last few months. If he'd been on Earth, he would probably have gone out and bought a sports car.

Sandra chuckled. "Teddy bear's not exactly how cadets viewed Popsicle Carter," she told him gleefully.

If Jacob's eyebrows had arched any higher, they would have flown off his head. "Popsicle Carter?" he inquired. _Do I really want to know?_

"Yeah – because of the big ol' stick up your butt," she admitted. Something of what he was feeling must have shown on his face, for she slid her small hand into his. "You know, I don't call you that anymore," she assured him. "You're a good guy and I'm honored to call you my friend."

Another of his defenses slipped at her shining eyes and warm smile – ah, dammit! – and he squeezed her hand gently.

"I think I'll pay a little visit to Earth," Sandra said. "It'll be summer now, and Jack promised me a trip to Minnesota."

"It's lovely this time of year," Jacob said, noting the strains of strain in her large eyes. This mission had been especially hard for her – due to her incarceration by Ba'al several years ago, and what had happened to Jack. Jacob and the other Tok'ra had been disgusted by Kanan's actions, which had worsened the cracks in the Tok'ra-Tauri alliance. "It'll do you good to get away for a couple of weeks – you're worn out."

"Yeah; I'm turning into a hag," Sandra agreed with a laugh.

"No; I didn't mean that," Jacob jumped in, trying to extract his big foot from his equally big mouth. "It's just … you've gone through a lot the lost few months and …".

Sandra chuckled softly. "Chill, Jacob," she offered, patting his shoulder. "There's no possible way for you to win this one," she added with a grin.

"Yeah; reminds me of being married," Jacob said wryly.

"Jacob." Sandra stopped suddenly, turned and put her hands on his shoulders. For one wild moment, he wondered if she was about to kiss him, then she said, "Seriously; why have you never re-married? And don't give me the old cow cookies about never meeting the right woman."

He fell into her large gray eyes. "I met the right woman, but she loves someone else," he admitted painfully.

"She's nuts," Sandra said cheerfully. "You're too great to stay single. Have you ever told her how you felt?"

This was hitting too close to home, and Jacob felt his cheeks redden. "It's … awkward," he said.

"Right," Sandra said, sympathy shining in her eyes. "I know I was really nervous when I told Jack how I felt about him, but it was one of the best decisions I ever made." She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "You should tell her, Jacob – what have you got to lose?"

"Y … her friendship," Jacob said, flustered by the friendly kiss. "If I can't have her love, then I'm happy to be her friend."

Sandra sighed. "Well, it's your life," she said, tucking her hand through his arm as they began to walk once more, "but personally I think you're nuts."

"Thanks," Jacob said, glad that she wasn't looking at him any longer. Although he knew that his midlife crisis was responsible for his feelings, that didn't make them any less real.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Come on in, ya wuss!" Jack shouted, splashing some water at his favorite jarhead. "The water's great!"

Sandra shook her head. "I've felt that water, Jack," she shot back. "It's colder than a witch's butt."

"You get used to it," Jack said, swimming up to the jetty with strong sure strokes. He'd always enjoyed swimming; found that it helped with the abuse his body had suffered over the years.

Eyeing him suspiciously, Sandra stretched one slender leg out and touched the water. She gave a yelp and drew her foot back. "Geez!" she exclaimed, dodging another shower. "Oh, what the hell," she added, shucking off her robe and sandals.

Jack stared, almost forgetting to tread water. After more than three years, he knew she had a great body. But that swimsuit … It consisted of high-cut French shorts and a sweet little tank top number, and suited her small curvy figure well.

"Incoming!" Sandra yelled, cannon-balling off of the jetty and soaking Jack. She bobbed back up a few meters away and pushed her hair out of her eyes. "You're right," she admitted, "this does feel good."

Jack smirked. "Told ya." He breathed in unsteadily as she flipped onto her back and paddled lazily over to him. "I … like your suit thing," he added.

"Thanks," Sandra said. "It's called a tankini apparently – Sam helped me pick it out." She tugged at the strap on the top. "You don't think it's too revealing, d'you?"

"Hell, no!" he exclaimed. Although beautiful and sensual, in public she tended to be quite shy. "I'm a guy – the less the better."

She laughed at that, splashing water in his face. "And they call women the weaker sex," she said derisively.

"No-one's who's seen you fight could say that," Jack said. The girl was freakishly strong.

Sandra grinned impishly. "Yeah; the Jaffa found that out the hard way," she confided.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Are the Tok'ra and the Jaffa fighting again?" he complained.

"Nah," Sandra said, patting his shoulder. "This happened when I was still with SG-3."

* * *

**Flashback – four years earlier:**

Lieutenant Sandra Ryan strolled into the commissary, took a tray and headed for the sweet counter. She chewed her lip as she debated, then settled on the green Jell-O.

Damn; no empty tables! She frowned then saw a spare chair near her. She went over to the table. "Anyone sitting here?" she asked.

The man lifted his head from the book he'd been reading and pushed his glasses up his nose. Not a line officer, she deduced. "Sure," he said, his blue eyes unfocused.

She sat down and dipped her spoon into the Jell-O, wishing that her team would get the 'go' from General Hammond. She was sick of seeing this damn base.

The man put down his book and sipped his coffee, barely hiding a wince. Sandra smiled in sympathy – commissary coffee was awful. "I'm Doctor Jackson, SG-1," he offered.

Sandra blinked. She knew all about Doctor Jackson, SG-1's resident archeologist/linguist, but he didn't look like the dweeb she'd expected. "Lieutenant Ryan; SG-3," she replied.

"Marine, huh?" Laughter sparkled in his eyes. She could almost hear the word 'jarhead'.

"Yes, sir – class of '98."

Doctor Jackson frowned. "I'm a civilian, Lieutenant," he said. "Most people call me Daniel."

"God is my judge," she said.

"Yeah." Daniel nodded his head. "You're a linguist?"

"Hell, no," she said. "More a jill of all trades – I know little bits about most things."

"Okay … what about Jack?"

She grinned, enjoying the repartee that she did not get from the meat-heads on her team, and the chance to flex her brains. "Short for Jonathan in Hebrew, Deodatus in Latin. Means God's gift."

Daniel chuckled. "And isn't he just?" he said. Sandra frowned at him and he shook his head. "Never mind," he added.

She tapped his book. "Whatcha reading?" He lifted it up. Neanderthal Man. "Okay; I don't buy that," she added, having finished reading it just last night. "Cro Magnon comes along and the Neanderthals just died off? Come of it!"

Daniel smiled. "I don't buy it either," he said, closing the book. "But the academic world didn't buy my theory about the pyramids being created by aliens."

"I didn't either," Sandra admitted, making her way through the Jell-O. "I thought you'd flipped, were tetched, milky in the filbert, ga-ga …".

"So; how did you think the pyramids were built? Such massive structures and no modern tools."

"They had whips, Doctor – massive, massive whips," Sandra shot back, pushing her empty bowl to one side. "Have you read Bronowski's The Ascent Of Man? Heavy going, but probably not for you."

"I keep meaning to, but you know what life at the SGC is like," Daniel admitted.

"Yeah, and we wouldn't have it any other way," Sandra said.

"Lieutenant Ryan; report to the embarkation room!" the PA system blared out.

"Guess that's my cue," Sandra said. "I'm off world for the next couple days, but remind me when I come back, and I'll dig the Bronowski out for you."

"Thanks," Daniel said. "Uh … I've enjoyed this chat," he said, fixing his startlingly blue eyes on her face. "Would you go to dinner with me one night?" he added almost shyly.

Sandra felt her face drain of color. Did he think she'd been flirting with him? "I … uh … have to go," she said, springing up from her chair and rushing out of the commissary.

* * *

"SG-3; you have a go," General Hammond said from the control room.

Sandra checked her arsenal; P90 at her midriff, revolver in her left holster, and zat'n'katel in her right. Although they were 'gating to a world occupied by rebel Jaffa and therefore friendly, she felt better knowing that she was loaded for bear.

Colonel Lightfoot and Major Lewinski, his 2IC, stepped up the ramp, followed by Sandra and her fellow 'grunts'.

Mere seconds later, they stepped out onto the planet designated P6L 434 by some math nut with more allergies than imagination. "Anyone around?" the CO asked.

"Yes, sir," Sandra said, pointing her P90. "We're being watched."

A tall Jaffa with the mark of Heru-ur on his forehead strode out. "Tauri!" he said.

"Yes," Lightfoot said. "I'm Colonel Lightfoot, commanding officer, and this is Major Lewinski, my second in command."

The Jaffa's hand shot out and gripped Colonel Lightfoot's forearm. The man appeared startled and Sandra sighed. Why hadn't he learned a bit about the Jaffa? After all, SG-1 had their own Jaffa! "Tek matté," he said. "I am Leyr'ak," he continued. "You and your warriors will …".

He laughed uproariously. "You have a female! That is wise – the nights are very long without a woman."

"Hey!" Sandra said indignantly. She knew that Jaffa males tended to view women as bodies, but she hadn't thought they'd insult her.

Lightfoot shook his head, thereby preventing any further outburst on Sandra's part. "Lieutenant Ryan is also a Marine, and is an outstanding member of my team."

"A child," Leyr'ak dismissed. "You and your warriors – including the woman – will join us. We have much to teach you."

_Yeah, and you have a helluva lot to learn, too!_, Sandra thought, furious at the Jaffa's chauvinism.

* * *

Colonel William Lightfoot watched as his team split off, forming alliances with various Jaffa. Only Ryan remained near the fire; she was staring pensively into the flames, her gray eyes unfocused.

Probably thinking about naqahdah generators or something, he mused. The young woman's keen brain was always on the go, and he was curious as to why she'd chosen to serve on SG-3 as opposed to one of the more general teams.

Her head nodded downward then snapped back up. "I'll take first watch, Lieutenant," he said stiffly, still not comfortable with the bright, energetic, intelligent Marine. "Standard four hour shifts."

"Yes, sir," she responded just as stiffly, then got up and padded over to her sleeping bag. She lay down and was asleep within seconds.

"Where's Ryan?" Lewinski asked, his eyes a little too bright. Alcohol had no effect on Jaffa, due to their symbiotes, but the younger man seemed to feel that he had to keep up with them.

Lightfoot jerked his head toward the single occupant bag. "Sleeping."

"Sleeping?" Alarm flared in his 2IC's eyes. "I am not waking her," he said.

Was the man pouting? Lightfoot then recalled the last time Lewinski had woken the young Lieutenant. He'd found himself airborne, and had crashed into the wall. That had to have hurt. "Relax, Lewinski," he said dryly. "It's not your turn."

Lewinski grinned. "Maybe one of the Jaffa can do it," he said. "They'd soon learn not to call her 'female'."

"Yeah; I can't say I like their attitude toward her either," Lightfoot admitted. Although he had a great respect for the young woman, he veered between 'protective father' and 'uptight CO' in his attitude to her. He simply couldn't relate to her.

Not because she was a woman – he'd commanded females many times – but because she was so young, so tiny … and so clever. He'd read her file before approving the transfer. She'd graduated from the Academy, in only two years, as a Second Lieutenant, and had cross-trained as an engineer. She also had a P-9 computer rating. That was one of the highest in the Forces – beaten only by Major Carter from SG-1, who was a P-10.

She'd then spent three years on the USS Farragut as a ground pounder, although still an officer, where she'd gained the respect of the jarheads that tended to make up the rank and file. Shortly before her transfer to Stargate Command, she'd been promoted to First Lieutenant, and was on the fast track to Captain.

"Yep – good ol' Leyr'ak can wake her," Lewinski said.

"I heard my name," the tall Jaffa said, appearing silently from behind them.

"Yeah; we've nominated you to wake Lieutenant Ryan when her watch rolls around," Lewinski said.

"You … make your females stand guard?" Leyr'ak said. "She is not hak'tyl … a strong wind would blow her away."

"She's tougher than she looks," Lewinski said, rubbing at his arm unconsciously.

Leyr'ak grunted. "We shall see, Michael, we shall see."

* * *

Leyr'ak, former First Prime to Heru-ur, was nobody's fool. He'd seen many things in his hundred years of life, and had learned that females could be strong. Warriors from Apophis's Serpent Guard had shared tales of the Tauri woman Samantha Carter – her strength and bravery were renowned.

He had glimpsed Samantha Carter and had been reluctantly impressed. Tall for a woman – only a little shorter than he – she was strong, quick and beautiful. She was truly an equal to any male.

But the child currently asleep near him … She was tiny and delicate, with bones like that of a bird. The cumbersome yet deadly weapon the Tauri called a P90 draped across her abdomen and covered her well.

It was time. He crossed over to her, ignoring the amused gleam in Michael Lewinski's eyes. He liked that Tauri – a fine strong warrior – but his sense of humor was peculiar.

He put his hands to the woman's shoulders to pull her awake. She shot up, landing quickly on her feet, clamped her hands to his arm and … threw him against a tree. He got up, shaking his head, and resisted the urge to rub his sore rear.

The woman put her fists into her eyes to rub away the sleep mists then she went red. "Geez, sorry," she said. "Never sneak up on a ground pounder."

"You are not sorry," he said, eyeing her with a little more respect.

She smiled slightly. "You're right," she admitted. "You needed a lesson in respect."

Leyr'ak felt his own mouth twitching. These Tauri were surprising. "You fight well," he said, "but your temper is a weakness. A warrior cannot be distracted by passion."

"I do okay," the female – Ryan – retorted shortly, scowling at him.

He swung out with a long leg and kicked her legs out from underneath her. She crashed to the ground. "Son of a bitch!" she said, rolling to absorb the impact.

Leyr'ak smiled. "You let down your guard because you felt I had insulted you," he said.

She grunted and got to her feet. "I can buy that," she said, a reluctant grin on her lips. "You're okay, for a shol'va."

He was impressed – with both the insult and her pronunciation of the Jaffa word. There had been no hint of the drawl that tended to accompany her speech. "Come, female," he said. "We will eat, and you will teach me that throw."

"Fair enough, but my name's Ryan, not female," she shot back, her pale skin flushing once again in anger.

_What a fine mate she will make one day!_, he thought. Strong, passionate, angry and beautiful. Although immature, she would become a woman soon enough, and would take one of the Tauri males as a mate. "Of course, Ryan," he said now, envying the unknown Tauri.

**End flashback**

* * *

"I learned a lot from Leyr'ak," Sandra said now, dangling her feet off the jetty. "At first, he struck me as just another male chauvinist, but we ended up respecting each other." She looked pensive all of a sudden. "He died a couple weeks later on one of Kytano's suicide missions." Her hands tightened into fists. "I was glad when Teal'c killed that son of a bitch Goa'uld."

She yawned hugely and put her head on his shoulder. "Sorry," she muttered, "the last couple months have been pretty crappy. It's good to be home."

"It's good to have you back," Jack said, helping her to her feet. Now that he looked at her more closely, he could see the exhaustion that swamped her small frame. He swung her up into his arms when she swayed and made his way back to the house. One unexpected side-effect of his trip to Ba'al's fortress was that the sarcophagus had healed his chronic bad knee.

"General," Garshaw said suddenly, "Sandra has been through much lately. I am repairing her physical condition, but you are best equipped for her mental condition."

"What happened?" Jack asked. He was still sometimes a little freaked when Garshaw spoke instead of his lover, but he considered the symbiote part a good friend. She was very good for Sandra.

"We spent two of your months on an … undercover operation in Ba'al's fortress," Garshaw said. "We posed as a minor Goa'uld wishing to learn his methods. It brought back bad memories for her." She touched his arm lightly. "We now know what you want through, General. If you ever need to talk about it …".

"I don't." Jack cut her off abruptly. He'd been tortured before – in Iraq – and would simply do with Ba'al what he'd done with the Iraqi. Stick them in the dark corner of his mind where all the Black Ops crap lay waiting to bite him in the ass.

"As you wish." Garshaw inclined her head, still managing to look regal despite being held closely to Jack's chest. "We are all three warriors, General, but she has not become as … accustomed to death as we have," she said. "I am very glad we are here. This planet of yours is beautiful – she will heal well."

"You really do love her, don't you?" Jack said. He'd witnessed love between Tok'ra before – between Martouf/Lantash and Rosha/Jolinar – but had not realized the love that the symbiote had for a host.

"How could I not?" Garshaw said, patting his cheek. Oh yeah; that was a Sandra move. "She is strong, gentle, brilliant, and has a wonderful sense of humor. As you Tauri would say; we crack each other up."

Jack smiled. "You're a good … uh, person," he said. "Sandra's lucky to have you."

"As am I lucky to have her and, by extension, you," Garshaw said. "You have both become very dear to me." Her eyes closed and she rested her bright head on his chest.

* * *

Sandra sat up and stretched. She looked at the clock. 1700. Geez; she'd slept for eight hours! That was so not like her. She realized Garshaw must have helped her sleep and sent a silent thank you to her friend.

She got out of bed and pattered down the stairs. Jack's head shot up before she even entered the living room – that was Black Ops, she knew – and his mouth curved upward. "Welcome back, sleepy-head," he teased gently, dropping a light kiss onto her lips.

"Mmmm; I needed that," Sandra said, unsure whether she was referring to the kiss or the sleep. Occasionally she worried that their differences would drive them apart – hell, they lived forty thousand light years away from each other! This was a bitch of a job for a relationship – they were more like buddies with occasional bouts of red hot lovin' to break the routine.

But until the Goa'uld were defeated or the Stargate program went public – neither of which was very likely – they would have to satisfy themselves with these occasional vacations. She put a hand to his face then ran her thumb across his lower lip. She enjoyed the softness for a second then replaced the thumb with her own lips.

She gave a gentle sigh as his hands wound themselves into her hair and he deepened the kiss. She really had missed this.

As the kiss ended, she slid her hands under his tee shirt, feeling his heart hammer. "Let's go to bed," she said, kissing the hollow at the base of his throat.

He flashed a crooked grin at her, his own hand slipping under her tee shirt to clasp her waist. "I think you've slept enough for one day," he teased.

"Don't be an ass," she retorted, squeezing his waist in return. "I want you, and I know you want me." He went red and she smiled. "It's easier for women to hide it," she consoled him then tugged him to her for a deep kiss.

* * *

Jack cracked open an eye, wincing as the sunlight glared at him. Geez; what time was it? Moving carefully so as not to wake Sandra, whose head was pillowed on his chest, he stretched a long arm out to his clock. 0600. Well; time to move out – early morning fishing beckoned.

He put a hand to her shoulder and pressed it gently. "Sandra," he said. "Time to get up."

Her blonde head lifted from his chest and she squinted at him. "Huh?" she croaked.

"Time to get up," he repeated, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

"Oh … right," she said, unwrapping herself from him, then stretching like a lazy cat. She frowned suddenly. "Do I hear voices?"

Jack closed his eyes. "My brother, David," he muttered. He'd forgotten that they used the cabin in June.

The door opened. "I'll just put the bags in here, Jill …," David said, then skidded to a halt. "Jack," he said.

Sandra snorted – _real ladylike, jarhead!_ – and muttered, "Jack and Jill? Sweet.", before pulling the covers over her shoulders.

"I … uh … didn't know you'd be here," his brother offered.

"Last-minute decision," Jack said. "Why don't you use the guest wing? It's been done recently."

"Uh, yeah," David said, blinking at the beautiful girl lying next to his older brother. "Why don't I let you two get on with it?" Then he went red.

Sandra burst into laughter as she grazed Jack's upper thigh with her hand – _witch._ "Sorry," she said, sitting up with the sheet wrapped round her slender form. "There's no graceful way of getting through this," she pointed out. "I'm Sandra, and you're David." She put out her hand in that regal manner Garshaw sometimes adopted.

David shook her hand. "Hi," he said. "Well, I'll tell Jill about the change in rooms. I'm fixing breakfast in a few, if you want to join us."

"Yeah," Jack said. Despite the lousy timing, he was glad to see his brother again. It had been too long.

David backed out of the bedroom as Sandra began chuckling all over again. "I thought you Irish boys were supposed to be glib?" she queried, her eyes dancing.

"Bit hard to be glib when you've got your hand on my leg," Jack shot back, his own hands roaming over her slim torso.

She beamed at him. "Somehow I don't think we're going to make it to breakfast," she told him, then captured his lips in an urgent kiss.

She was right.

* * *

"So, you work with Jack?" David said. "Are you Air Force, too?"

Sandra rolled her eyes. "As if. Marine Corps." She didn't think it wise to mention that, until Garshaw, she'd been horribly airsick. Jack would never let her forget it. "Uh … David, why is your dog staring at me?" She thought Jack snickered at that, but she couldn't be sure.

"Ah, he does that," David said. "Used to creep me out but I'm used to it now. Just ignore him."

Sandra looked deeply into the dog's eyes. "Go. Away," she said coldly.

The dog skittered away and fled from the room.

"Now, why can't I get him to do that?" Jack complained. "How'd you do that?"

"By the tone of my voice, he could tell I meant business," Sandra said.

"Oh, you're saying you've got a more commanding voice than I have?" The General sounded peeved.

"Hell, I took a half a step backward before I realized she meant the dog," David laughed, ducking as Sandra swatted at him.

"You teach him, Sandra," Jillian O'Neill said, patting her husband's hand. She grinned. "Want to come for a walk, Sandra? I can … educate you about the O'Neills."

Sandra laughed at the alarm that crossed her favorite fly-boy's face. "I'd like that," she admitted. "Just let me get some shoes on."

She headed to her and Jack's bedroom and stuffed her feet into a battered pair of sneakers, then grabbed one of his sweatshirts, tying it round her waist. She bounced back into the living room, ignoring Garshaw's complaints about the half-pot of coffee she'd downed earlier, and smiled at Jack's sister in law. "Ready when you are," she said.

The two women headed outside and Sandra slid her sunglasses onto her nose. She stretched her arms out to the sun. "Gorgeous," she murmured.

"I know," Jill said. "I fell in love with this place the first time I saw it. And David proposed to me here."

"How long have you guys been married?" Sandra asked curiously.

"Twenty years next month," Jill said.

Sandra blinked. "You must've been a child bride," she said. The woman couldn't be that much older than her.

Jill beamed at her. "Bless you for that," she said. "I was forty a couple weeks ago."

_Geez._ "So; how d'you deal with the O'Neill thickheaded streak?" Sandra asked. After three years, she knew Jack was nowhere near as dumb as he acted, and she wondered why he did that. At what point had he decided it was safer to act stupid?

"Ignore it," Jill said. "You're lucky, though, with Jack. Whenever I try to discuss my job with David, I can only get through half the sentence before his eyes start to glaze over."

Jill was head of the physics department at UCLA, and Sandra nodded her head in sympathy. "Yeah; Jack's the same," she said.

"Jack O'Neill?" Jill laughed heartily. "D'you know what his degrees were?"

Degrees plus? "I know he studied English Literature at Berkeley," Sandra said. The man had quoted Homer Simpson, Ralph Waldo Emerson and Sun Tzu verbatim only that morning, and all without straying from the point. His mind was like a sponge.

"Oh, yeah … and a doctorate in theoretical astrophysics from MIT," Jill said gleefully. "He's great to talk to."

A doctorate … in theoretical astrophysics? Sandra thought she was going to swallow her own tongue. **_I knew that young man could not be as addled as he acts_**, Garshaw commented. "So, why does he act like a dumb jock?" she complained.

Jill looked serious all of a sudden. "He wasn't always like that," she said. "I've known him and David most of my life. Jack's older than me, but we were friends due to being scientist geeks. Then he joined the Air Force and started being a dumb jock. And Sara …". She rolled her eyes. "Sara resented his brains. She'd fallen for the outer Jack, and didn't understand him. It was a tragedy what happened to poor Charlie, but I was glad when Sara got on her broomstick and flew away."

She clasped Sandra's hand quickly. "He's a good kind man who's seen a lot of horror," she said. "I like you a lot, but if you hurt him, I'll find you."

Sandra smiled, wondering if Jack had any idea of the devotion he inspired in people. "Don't worry, Jill," she said. "I love him, and wouldn't want to hurt him." Although she was tempted to beat the crap out of him for his "If I Only Had A Brain" routine.

* * *

"You and Jill seem to be getting along well," Jack said that night. He was glad Sandra and his family liked each other.

"Yeah; she's a lot of fun," Sandra said, climbing into bed and sliding her arm around his waist. "I found out a lot of interesting things," she purred.

He didn't exactly like the way she said that. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah … giving the Principal a wedgie? Convincing the commissary chef that Hammond's favorite dessert was orange Jell-O with paprika and goobers?" Her eyes narrowed then she punched him in the shoulder.

"Hey!" he said.

"It was you, wasn't it, who took the heating devices out of SG-3's MREs when we 'gated to that really cold, really wet planet?"

_Busted._ Jack grinned, evading another punch. "Best three hours work I've ever done," he admitted.

"Y'know; I spent an hour working over Lou Ferretti?" Sandra said. "I was convinced it was him, you big jerk!"

"Nope; yours truly," he laughed.

"Well … I spent a night in holding for beating the crap out of a Major," Sandra said. "I wonder what the penalty is for doing the same to a General?" She kissed him bruisingly. "Oh, that's right – I'm not in the Corps any more. I'm a civilian."

Jack bounced out of the bed. "Come on, shorty – give me your best shot!" he derided, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

She shot out after him and flung herself head-first into his abdomen, sending them both crashing to the floor. "Oh! Wanna play rough, do ya?" he grunted, flipping her over and administering a thorough noogie.

"Ow! Dammit, that hurts, you big lummox!" Sandra said, struggling to break free of his grip.

"Hey!" He clapped a hand to his neck. "You bit me!"

"Get off me," she said, pushing him away and shaking with laughter.

"Hey!" David called. "Do I have to come in there and break you two up?"

"Sorry!" Jack and Sandra chroused.

They got back into bed and Jack scowled at Sandra, who was still chuckling. "What are you – a freakin' vampire? I can't believe you bit me!"

"Aw, poor baby," Sandra cooed. She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed the wound. "Better?" she asked.

Oh yeah … "Do it again," he ordered in his best 'pissed General' tone.

She gave him a flippant salute. "Yes, sir!" Then she pushed him to the pillow and proceeded to kiss it all better.

Oh yeah; bring it on!

* * *

They lay exhausted, Sandra's hand running lazily across his chest. "Damn," Jack breathed.

She snickered into his neck. "Yeah," she sighed. "Not bad for an old guy."

"Hey; less with the old. Part of you is over two thousand years old," he teased.

"Oh, so you're my boy-toy?" Sandra purred. "I think I like that," she added, sliding her leg between his and kissing his chest.

He didn't know what was making her so aggressive, but he wasn't about to fight it. No guy in his right mind would fight off a hot 27 year old blonde who could do wonderful things for an aging fly-boy. He grinned at her. "You're very demanding tonight," he said.

"I sure am, Doctor O'Neill," she teased.

Doctor? Jack blinked at her. _Ah, geez – Jill!_, he mourned.

"So … what's it worth not to share this fascinating little gem with Doctor Colonel Carter?" she continued.

Jack closed his eyes. "It's none of her business, and it's none of yours," he said. "That part of my life is over."

The words came out a little more harshly than he'd intended and he felt her sit up. "Don't take that tone with me, fly-boy," she said. "Nobody ever bought your dumb act but you, anyway." She put her hand through her hair. "When did you decide you had to be dumb to survive, Jack?" Her tone softened and she put her hand to his face. "Was it Iraq?"

Jack's heart pounded as the memory came roaring back. Four months. Four months of floggings. Four months of solitary except for the daily sessions. He'd read enough about PTSD to know that he was one of its victims, but he'd learned to deal with it. "I'm not cracked," he said, moving away from her touch. "Just cause you've got a snake in your head it doesn't make you wise."

"Oh, God! You are such an unbelievable asshole at times!" Sandra said. She got out of the bed and dragged some clothes on, then took his keys. "I've gotta get out of here," she said. "We both need to cool off."

He wasn't in the mood to be reasonable. "Running away again, huh? Neat little snake-head trick – screw the Tauri and move on."

"Son of a bitch," she muttered then headed out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"Jerk," Sandra muttered, treading hard on the accelerator. "Asshole." Her speed increased. "Son of a bitch." She was now flying along the interstate, weaving in and out of the other vehicles, uncaring of the hollered abuse aimed at her.

She turned onto one of the quieter off-roads, put in her Nirvana CD – for some reason, Jack had kept her CD collection when she'd moved off world – and cranked up the volume.

She zipped along the quiet country road, the rain matching her mood perfectly. Suddenly, she heard sirens. "What is this; asshole day?" she groused, pulling into a lay-by.

A large cop knocked on her window. "License and registration, please," he said.

"The truck's not mine, but I'm on his insurance," Sandra said, pushing the documents into his hand.

"Marines, huh?" the officer said. "Well, Captain; d'you know how fast you were going?"

"I'm going to hazard a guess and say too fast," Sandra responded snidely, suddenly sick of bossy Type A men.

"Bingo," the cop said. "Step out of the car, please."

"Oh, for cryin' out loud," Sandra muttered.

**_Sandra; I am not eager to see a Tauri jail_**, Garshaw told her.

**_Fine_**, Sandra grumped back. She got out of the truck and put the breathalyzer tube into her mouth.

"You're clean," the officer said. He wrote on his pad and presented the citation. "You've got thirty days to pay this."

"Yeah," Sandra muttered. Where the hell she was going to get a hundred bucks from, she didn't know.

"And drive carefully, will you?" the cop added. "I don't want you to become another statistic."

"I will," Sandra said. And she would. Her anger had evaporated and now she just felt … sad. She and Jack had become very close over the last few years, but he kept parts of himself shut away. Whether it was for her protection or his, she couldn't say, but she was tired.

The cop roared away, and she got back into the truck, her teeth chattering. What she wouldn't give for a cup of coffee right now! **_I believe we passed a … diner earlier_**, Garshaw told her, for once not making complaints about how much coffee Sandra consumed.

* * *

She pulled into the parking lot of the diner Garshaw had found, got out of the truck and stepped into the welcome warmth of the diner.

There weren't many people there that time of night – the waitress and a few trucker types. "Hey, hon; what can I get you?" the waitress said.

Sandra dug in her pocket. Aha; ten bucks! "The biggest pot of coffee in the world," she said.

The waitress chuckled and filled a large mug. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Unadulterated," Sandra said, wrapping her hands around the elixir of life. She brushed furiously at a tear – she was not going to cry in front of a bunch of strangers.

"Honey; he ain't worth it," one of the truckers said.

"What makes you think it's about some guy?" she almost snarled.

He put his hands up in surrender. "I've been on the road a long time, kiddo. And when a lovely little kid like you comes into a crummy dive like this with bruises on her arms and heartbreak in her eyes …".

She'd not realized she was bruised already from her rough-housing with Jack. She tugged at her sleeves, knowing Garshaw would heal her over the next day. "It's nothing," she said.

"Honey; ditch him," the waitress said. "That type never changes. You're so young – you can still have a good life."

Sandra closed her eyes. Although the well-meaning woman had gotten the wrong end of the stick, part of what she said was true. Jack would never change. All that Black Ops shit had scarred him – he would always keep a part of himself hidden. "You're right," she admitted tiredly. "It's time for me to go home."

"Where's home, honey?" the trucker said, passing her half a sub.

"Bel'nath. North of here." Way, way north. "Near Colorado Springs." She shook her head at the sub. "I'm not hungry," she added.

"Then take it with you for later," the trucker persisted. "You're all eyes."

She smiled sadly. **_Do I really look like such a waif?_**, she asked Garshaw. She knew she'd lost weight whilst undercover at Ba'al's fortress, but hadn't realized it was that bad.

**_You are exhausted_**, her internal mother hen told her. **_If it was not for me, you would have collapsed weeks ago._**

**_If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have had to make nice with that sorry snaky-assed Goa'uld in the first place!_**, Sandra shot back, then put her hand to her mouth. **_Geez, I'm sorry_**, she mourned. **_You know I love you, right?_**

**_I know_**, Garshaw returned. **_What do you wish to do now?_**

**_I don't know_**, Sandra said. **_I just … I want to go home. Back to Bel'nath._**

"Kiddo; I'm Rick and this is my wife Jenny," the trucker said, indicating the waitress.

"I'm Sandra," Sandra said, sipping her coffee and staring morosely into the black depths.

"You can stay here for a coupla days till your head's on straight," Jenny said. "You don't want to be driving in this weather – it's only going to get worse."

"I'll be okay," Sandra said with a smile. "I like driving."

"So, kid; what unit?" Rick tugged at her dog-tags.

"127th for three years, then … Special Ops," Sandra fudged.

"127th – the Farragut," Rick said.

"Yeah … you were a Marine, too?"

"Retired ten years ago. Never reached the rank of Captain, though." His blue eyes twinkled at her.

"Oh, I think Colonel Imbrie would've choked at the idea of me reaching Captain," Sandra admitted, finally feeling himself warm up.

"Geez; I thought they'd've put him out to pasture ages ago," Rick said. "That guy hated non-coms."

"I know," Sandra replied. "He wasn't much better with Lieutenants – trust me on that." She chuckled slightly. "I got my first spell in the brig thanks to him." She grinned at the memory. "For some reason, he took the atomic wedgie personally."

Rick choked on his sandwich then burst into laughter. "I wish I could've seen that," he said.

"It's one of my favorite memories," Sandra admitted, feeling the tension ease away. She took an eager gulp of the coffee then tore off some of the beef sub. Maybe she was a bit hungry.

She ate some of the sub then yawned. "How much for the coffee, Jenny?" she asked.

"On the house, kiddo," the older woman said. "Ten years ago, I walked into this diner in the same state as you. Maybe one day you could pass it on?"

Tears sprang to Sandra's eyes. "I will," she said.

"Go home, little 'un," Rick said. "Put that SOB behind you. You deserve better than that shit."

"Yeah," Sandra said. She got up, clutching the sub. "Thanks … for everything," she said.

* * *

**Three months later:**

"Come on, T; bring it!" O'Neill said.

Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "I'm attempting to do so, O'Neill, but you are fighting with great proficiency today."

Teal'c observed his younger friend. As Daniel Jackson had pointed out, he was indeed in a 'pissy' mood. He had been like that since Captain Ryan had left him three months ago.

O'Neill grinned savagely. "Yeah?" He seemed inordinately pleased at that.

"Yes, but I am not the one who needs a beating," Teal'c said. He clamped his friend's shoulders and steered him to the mirror. "This is the object of your anger."

The gray-haired warrior's shoulders sagged. "Have I really been that bad, T?" he asked.

Teal'c dipped his head. "You have," he said, "become one giant pain in the mikta." He smiled slightly at the shocked look on O'Neill's face. "Why do you not go to Bel'nath?"

"She made it pretty clear she didn't want to see me again, T," O'Neill said. "Taking off in the middle of the night without so much as a goodbye."

"You hurt her," Teal'c explained patiently. He tended to forget that this seasoned warrior was less than half his age. "And she is stubborn, like you. As you were the one in the wrong, you should be the one to go to her and admit that."

"I can't use the 'gate for my love life, T!" O'Neill said.

"You are the commanding officer of the Stargate Project," Teal'c pointed out. "No-one will object to General O'Neill traveling to Bel'nath for talks with our allies amongst the Tok'ra."

O'Neill smirked. "When did you get so devious, T?"

"I learned from the best, O'Neill," Teal'c said with his best 'poker' face.

* * *

Jack pitched through the wormhole, ending up in a tangle of arms and legs with his 2IC. "Geez!" he yelped as her knee connected with something delicate. He rolled to his feet, trying to ignore Carter's snicker. "Okay, kids; let's move out. No stopping to look for rocks, Daniel."

"Artifacts, Jack," the archeologist said.

"Whatever." Jack had missed the almost daily arguments with Daniel during his fifteen months away. Jonas was a good kid, but it hadn't been the same.

"Hey, kids – you want to come over to my place tonight? It's just right for a barbecue." That was his way of apologizing for being such an ass the last few months.

"Indeed – that will be most enjoyable, O'Neill. May Louise come along?"

"Louise? Head nurse and wielder of giant needles? That Louise?"

Teal'c dipped his head. "She has expressed an interesting in socializing with me."

Captain Louise Farrell was a tall curvy redhead only a few inches shorter than Jack – a woman built to Jaffa specifications. "Yeah, sure, bring her along," Jack said. "Carter? Daniel?"

"I'm in, sir," his 2IC said.

Daniel flushed. "I … uh … I've got plans," he said.

"Well, bring her along," Jack said. "Unless you're ashamed of her."

"Don't be an ass, Jack!" The archeologist rolled his eyes.

"Well, who is she?"

"Okay, but I'm excited about this, so don't get all fatherly and judgmental on me."

"Oh, c'mon, Daniel," Jack wheedled.

"It's Cassandra," Daniel said.

"Cassandra … Cassie? Cassie Fraiser?" Jack saw Carter's eye bug out and knew that his own were doing the same. He and Sam had been left in joint guardianship of the young woman after Janet Fraiser's death, and Jack still saw her as a little girl. "Daniel; you're twenty years older than she is!"

"I know," Daniel said, "but she asked me out." He went bright red. "She wouldn't have taken no for an answer."

"Well … it's your life, Daniel – but you take advantage of her, and I'll hurt you."

"Cassandra Fraiser is a grown woman, O'Neill," Teal'c said. "She is only a few years younger than your paramour."

"I'm being a hypocrite, huh, big guy?" Jack said with a sigh. God knows he hadn't heard that soppy tone of Daniel's since his brief affair with Ke'ra aka Linea.

"Yes," Teal'c said abruptly as several Tok'ra marched up to them, Jacob Carter at the forefront.

"Hey, Sam," he said, hugging his daughter. He nodded stiffly at Jack. "General."

Crap, he was in trouble. Jacob was very protective of Sandra – he seemed to regard her as a second daughter. "Hey, Jacob," he said. "Is Sandra around?"

"She is, but I don't think she wants to see you," Jacob said.

"I kinda think that's up to her," Jack said.

"Yeah, but you hurt her again and I'll hunt you down and take you out," Jacob said, his eyes steely.

Jack was a lot younger than Jacob, but Jacob was a fellow Air Force General and had the snake keeping him healthy. He was therefore inclined to believe the threat. "Yeah, sure, ya betcha!" he said, heading for the rings.

* * *

He entered the chamber where Sandra was hard at work. She hadn't changed much in three months, but had put on a little weight. Good thing, too; she'd practically been skin and bone.

She looked up and smiled slightly. "General," she greeted him.

Ouch. When had they gone back to ranks? "Sandra," he said, pulling off his cap and twirling it uneasily. "You look well."

She crossed her arms. _Red Alert._ "I am," she said. "Is there something the Tok'ra can do for you, General?"

"For starters; kill the 'General' thing," Jack said. "You know my name. For cryin' out loud, you moan it every time we make love!" _Oooh, not a wise move, O'Neill!_, he thought, feeling his body's response to his latest erotic memory.

She went scarlet then shook her head. "Jack," she said softly. "What can the Tok'ra do for you?"

"Well, I want one particular Tok'ra to give me another chance," he said. "I was a complete asshole that night."

"You were," she said, uncrossing her arms, "but I was being a nosy intrusive yenta. I know you can't talk about your Black Ops days, but why couldn't you have told me about your doctorate instead of me finding out about it from Jill?"

"It's not something I'll admit willingly," Jack said. "Yeah; I'm good at science, but I can't work up any kind of enthusiasm for it. And if you and Carter had ever known about it, I'd never have gotten a moment's peace."

"I can buy that," Sandra said. "If I hadn't held out for my dreams, I'd be a CPA right now."

Jack chuckled. "Somehow I can't picture you sitting behind an adding machine lecturing people about tax shelters," he said ruefully.

She smiled at him. "Me neither." She got up from the table and put her hand on his cheek. "But I don't want to be shut out any more, Jack," she added. "Even if I can't help, you need someone to listen to you."

"Yeah," Jack said, turning his head and kissing her hand. "I've missed you," he added.

"How long can you stay for?" she asked. "We never did get to finish our vacation."

"We've got a week's stand-down," Jack said, his heart pounding when she put a hand on his arm. He slid an arm around her waist.

"Nuh-uh, fly-boy – we're not about the red hot lovin' tonight," she said. "We're going to have dinner and talk. And maybe I'll let you kiss me."

Jack raised his eyebrows. Red hot lovin'? Not bad for a nearing fifty Air Force General! "A-ah!" He slapped his forehead. "Just remembered; having the team over to mine for a barbecue tonight. I've been pretty unbearable the last few months."

Sandra chuckled. "So have I," she admitted. "But I don't get to spend much time with SG-1, and I think I'd like to."

"Cool," Jack said, touching her soft hair. "I don't mean to shut you out," he admitted. "It's become a knee-jerk reaction."

"I know," Sandra said, tracing his lips with her index finger. She snatched her hand back as if it had been burned and shook her head.

* * *

Sandra traced her fly-boy's lips with a finger. Damn, she'd missed him! His lips opened and she snatched her hand back. Bad Sandra! She knew if she kissed him, her vow to go slow would fly right out the window, and they'd end up naked and sweaty.

_Mmmm – naked sweaty General … No! Be strong, Ryan! You can look at him without remembering his hands on your body, his lips on your neck …_

"Damn," she heard herself croak. "Is it getting hot in here?"

Jack wore that familiar smug grin. He swaggered over to her, thrusting his fists into his pockets. "I hadn't noticed," he drawled.

_Oh, eat shit and die, fly-boy._ If she was going to get all hot and bothered, then she was taking him with her!

"Well, it is," she said, pulling off her jacket and stretching her tank-top-clad body, noting with glee that his eyes had slipped to her chest.

"Sandra," he said, clasping her arms, "it's been three months. Don't do that to me."

One-nil to the chick from Louisiana. "Do what?" she asked innocently. He was such fun to tease … such a guy. She kissed him gently on the lips. "That perhaps?" Onto the neck. "Or that?" She could feel him heat up and grinned. Two-nil to the chick from Louisiana!

He plunged one hand through her hair and used the other to pull her up against him. "Witch," he growled then kissed her deeply.

Okay … two-one. She sighed and relented, melting into his warm frame.

"Oh, geez … get a room, you two!" she heard Daniel call out.

"Good idea," she mumbled into Jack's mouth. She grabbed his hand and towed him to her bedroom.

She pushed him gently onto her bed and lowered herself onto him. He flinched. "What?" she said. Since when had he ever said no?

Jack groaned. "Sorry, babe; the mind's willing, the body's not. Carter and I got chucked out of the 'gate and she landed …"

Ouch. Sandra couldn't say she wasn't disappointed, but she understood. Garshaw had had male hosts in the past and she could empathize. "It's okay," she said, rolling off of him, then kissing him softly.

* * *

Sandra pulled on her jeans and new pink blouse then examined herself in the mirror. There were definite whisker burns on her neck, courtesy of their precarious escapade in the bathroom an hour ago. Good thing it was dark outside!

She jogged down the stairs and stuffed her feet into a pair of sandals. She went outside and slid her arms around Jack. "Hey," she said.

He turned round. "Hey, yourself," he said, his eyes dancing as they traveled over her body. God, he had the loveliest eyes! "A little distracted?" he asked.

"No," she said brightly. "Why?"

"Oh, it's just you never struck me as the kind of woman who'd leave so many buttons undone."

She looked down. _Geez!_ Sure enough, she'd only buttoned half the blouse, leaving a great deal of her chest exposed, much to Jack's pleasure. She'd gained a few pounds in the last three months, and those pounds had gone straight to her chest. "Crap," she muttered, doing up the rest of her buttons.

"You're no fun," he complained.

She shook her head and snaked her hands round him, squeezing his butt. "You can say that after our little adventure in the bathroom?" she queried.

He grinned widely. "Not bad for an old fly-boy like me, huh?" he said, lowering his head to hers.

"Break it up!" Sam Carter called, stepping out onto the decking.

Sandra giggled, brushing her hand across Jack's most … ahem … sensitive body part, before turning to greet the older woman. "Hey, Sam," she said. She was standing with a fair solidly-built guy. That had to be Pete, her husband. "Any signs of the guys yet?"

"Daniel's gone to pick up Cassie, and Louise and Teal'c are on their way," Carter said.

_What; no pseudonym for the civvie?_ The guy smiled wryly. "I've known the truth for a couple years," he said. "Teal'c's an alien. It explained a lot."

"So's Cassie," Sam reminded him.

"And so am I," Sandra said wickedly. She dipped her head. **_And over to you, Garshaw._**

* * *

Jack grinned as the color drained from Pete Shanahan's face as Garshaw greeted him. The pair of them were pure evil, Sandra more so than Garshaw. It had taken him ten minutes to calm down enough to greet his 2IC.

He'd thought their bathroom session would have killed him, but she seemed to share her youthful enthusiasm with him. Hell, at least he would've died with a grin on his face. But no, one casual brush of her hand and he was rarin' to go again.

_Whose stupid idea was it to have this barbecue, anyway, O'Neill?_, he derided himself.

"Greetings, Sandra," Teal'c rumbled, placing a light kiss on Sandra's cheek. "You look very nice tonight."

"Thanks, Teal'c." Sandra chuckled and turned to Captain Farrell. "Hello, again," she said to the tall redhead. "How's the sweet music quest working out?"

Huh? Jack would never understand women.

His confusion increased when Captain Farrell laughed. "Ask me again in a couple days," she purred.

"Good for you," Sandra said. She came back over to Jack. "Want me to get some drinks, fly-boy?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, concentrating on the steaks.

She elbowed him suddenly. "Hyper-Daniel at six o'clock," she murmured.

Jack turned, to be confronted by six feet of bouncing archeologist. Who'd switched his decaf for the real stuff? "Hi, Daniel," he said. "Hey, Cassie."

"Hi, Jack," Cassie Fraiser replied, rolling her eyes. "He begged me so hard for real coffee, I couldn't resist," she said. _Daniel the puppy strikes again, huh?_ "Now I wish I hadn't given in."

Six months of decaffeinating Daniel down the tube. Sweet. Jack sighed. This was going to be one long night …

* * *

Good food, good company. What was not to love? Sandra sighed happily and leaned back against Jack as soft classical music wafted out of his stereo.

Daniel had calmed down as the night had worn on, and was now sitting with his arm around Cassie Fraiser. "Easy, Papa Bear," Sandra muttered to Jack, who was frowning at the two lovebirds. "They're both adults."

His chest heaved as he sighed. "Yeah; I suppose so," he said. "I just can't help remembering the skinny little kid we rescued all those years ago."

"Yeah, I guess so," Sandra said, putting her hand to his cheek. "Hey, where's Jennifer?"

"Kelowna," Daniel said, his blue eyes dancing. "She always takes that off world assignment."

"I take it she's still got a crush on Jonas?" Sandra said, rolling her eyes. "I wonder when that boy'll wake up and smell the coffee?" So far, the alliance with the Kelownans was working out well. They supplied the SGC with naquadria and the SGC helped negotiate peace between Kelowna and the other two nation states on that planet. A shame the SGC couldn't do for Earth what they'd done for so many other planets …

Her unit had been in Brooklyn on 9/11 and had been mobilized to help the badly over-stretched emergency services. Damn terrorists! What was it with them? 'See the world the way I do, or die'. Until that day, she'd always felt outraged at the idea that the US found a Black Ops unit necessary. She was no longer so naïve.

She took her glass of diet soda as she saw Jack's clock click over to midnight. "It's now September eleven," she said. "Five years ago today, many good people lost their lives to evil. Here's to their memory."

"Hear, hear," everyone echoed, clinking glasses.

Jack nuzzled her neck. "Nice," he murmured.

She smiled. "Thanks," she said.

"Huh; who'd've thought the big bad General was a nuzzler?" Daniel said, his eyes slightly out of focus.

Sandra rolled her eyes. The guy had no tolerance for alcohol – he could get drunk from the fumes – but he always tried to keep up with Jack. "Shut up, Jack," she ordered.

"Yes, Captain!" He saluted her but, as always, it came out more like a half-assed wave.

Jack chuckled into her neck. "You'll never make a soldier out of him," he said. "I've been trying for years."

Sandra laughed. "We all love him just as he is," she said. "Perhaps some more than others," she added as the archeologist wrapped his arms around Cassie, put his head on her shoulder … and promptly fell asleep.

"Well, I think that's all, folks!" Jack said. "Now, remember; we've got five more days of down-time, so I don't want to hear that you've been on the base."

"I'll keep Sam away, Jack," Pete promised.

"And I'll do the same for the big guy," Louise added, tracing Teal'c's gold emblem.

"Cassie?"

She gave a fond smile to not-so-hyper Daniel and adjusted his glasses. "Well, he'll wish he was dead tomorrow, but I'll convince him to stay away from work." She aimed a wicked grin at Jack.

Jack held up his hands. "Cass; I don't wanna know!" he yelped.

* * *

Working swiftly together, Jack and Sandra soon had the deck and living room back in order. "Good work, jarhead," he said.

"Oh, I soon learned how to spit-shine a billet," Sandra said, putting her hands to her back and grimacing. "A-ah! I feel about a hundred!" She grinned. "The bathroom was not one of our brighter ideas."

Jack chuckled. "You loved every moment of it, if your reaction was anything to go by."

"Phooey." She pulled a face at him then tugged off her blouse. "Anyway; me for bed. Coming?" She aimed a wicked grin at his lower body.

"Oh, you know it!" he said. "I give great massages, you know," he added, putting his hand to her back and raising his eyebrows at the large bruise. "Geez; sorry!" he said, snatching his hand back.

"C'mon, fly-boy – you know how easily I bruise," Sandra said. "It'll be healed by morning." She removed his shirt and pressed her naked torso up against his. "Come to bed, Jack," she murmured, kissing his neck.

Oh, yeah – raring to go! He scooped her up against him and charged up the stairs.

He dropped her on the bed and proceeded to blow raspberries on her sexy little belly. She shrieked with laughter and smacked him on the side of his head. "What're you doing?" she said.

He blew another raspberry. "My dear Captain Ryan," he said. "We've had sweet sex, mind-blowing sex, and good ol' down-and-dirty sex. This is your introduction to the world of goofy sex."

"Goofy sex?" She chuckled then flipped him over – she really was freakishly strong! – and did his raspberries trick over his stomach.

She got lower … nearer his happy hunting ground, and he gripped her shoulders. "Nuh-uh," he said. "Goofy sex." He began tickling her – after more than three years, he knew all her ticklish spots – until tears streamed down her face.

"Uncle!" she gasped, rolling out from under him. She grinned at him. "I think I like goofy sex," she admitted, kissing his chest.

"Oh, yeah?" He flipped her on top of him. "You ain't seen nothin' yet, jarhead!"

* * *

Sandra woke up, stretching like a contented cat. She now had whisker burns on every conceivable part of her body, including her feet, but she decided that she liked 'goofy sex'.

She got up and headed into the bathroom, giving Jack a hug as he stepped out of the shower. _Mmmm; naked General._ "Morning!" she said brightly.

"Hey," he said. "Hit the shower, kiddo – we've got a lot to do today."

She gave him a wicked smile. "It'll be so lonely in there," she pouted, marveling at the wanton side he inspired in her.

He swatted her butt. "I still ache from yesterday," he complained. "I'm going for breakfast. But first things first …". He put his hands to her face and kissed her deeply and sensuously.

Wow; how could he do this to her with just a kiss? She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed up against him. He slid his arms around her waist, clutching tightly. Geez; any closer and they'd be in back of each other!

That was her last rational thought for several minutes – _oh, baby_ didn't exactly cut it. When they unraveled themselves from each other, both were flushed and breathless. "Damn!" she muttered. "I love your version of good morning."

"You're no slouch either," he said, then pointed to the shower. "Now get your cute little rear into the shower."

"Yes, sir!" Sandra grinned at him, grabbed a washcloth and headed into the stall. "Plenty of room for two, you know," she invited, soaping down her more … enticing parts.

He chuckled. "You're an evil woman," he said, toweling himself dry. "You want coffee?"

"A cup of coffee, a sandwich, and you," she sang at him.

"Geez." She could hear him rolling his eyes as he left the bathroom.

* * *

They strolled through the shopping mall hand in hand, Sandra enjoying this romantic side of Jack just as much as the goofy one of last night or the red hot one of yesterday afternoon.

Garshaw had rapidly healed her aching back and the bruises from the bathroom encounter, and seemed to be enjoying this little excursion. **_I take it malls aren't a big thing for the Tok'ra?_**, Sandra teased.

**_I like it_**, Garshaw said. **_It also means I do not have to spend time healing you from your sexual encounters._**

**_Don't knock it till you've tried it_**, Sandra shot back. The symbiotes were asexual – her best friend would never understand the pleasure to be found in love-making.

"Hey; quit talking to your snake," Jack said quietly. "I've … uh … got something I need to do. Wait for me here?"

"Sure," Sandra said, wondering why he looked so uneasy. **_Your young man gets stranger with every day that passes_**, Garshaw commented.

Sandra chuckled, but was careful to keep it internal. That was probably why the Tok'ra looked like such a po-faced bunch – if they reacted visibly to their symbiotes, they'd be carted off to the nearest giggling academy. **_Yeah, but I love him_**, she replied.

**_Hyper-Daniel alert_**, Garshaw laughed. She loved that appellation for the SGC's favorite archeologist.

Hmm. He didn't look too hyper today. Sandra studied him. He actually looked more like the victim of a brutal train wreck. His skin was pale, he moved cautiously and his eyes were hidden by sunglasses. "Morning, Daniel!" she said brightly.

"Aaarrgghh," he muttered, turning to look at her. "You look disgustingly healthy," he offered, taking off the sunglasses.

"I don't drink," Sandra said smugly.

"Wise girl." The archeologist was obviously in pain, but he managed to smile at Cassie, who'd appeared silently at his side. "I promise not to go into work, but please can I go home?" he pleaded.

Cassie was no force against Daniel the puppy. Even Sandra blinked. Good Lord; if that man ever found out the power of his eyes, no woman would be safe from his wiles! "Of course," she said gently, blushing up at him. "Hi, Sandra," she said. "Love to chat, but I don't think Daniel's up to it."

"I think you'd better get him to bed," Sandra said.

Cassie grinned evilly then blushed. "Now, that's a good idea!" she said, sliding her arm around the surprisingly well-built doctor. "Come on, Daniel," she said.

He gave her a sweet smile. "Bless you, Cassandra," he said.

As they moved away, Jack came back into view. "Was that Daniel and Cassie?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sandra said. "Your little girl is growing up."

"Geez." He sighed and sat down next to her. "This really sucks."

* * *

"Sandra." Jack leaned over the table and clasped her hands. "Can we talk?"

"Sounds serious, fly-boy." She grinned at him before absorbing a mouthful of Rocky Road.

"It is," Jack said. "We've been together a long time and gone through a lot."

"Including a couple dozen System Lords," she replied smugly.

He chuckled and nodded his head, but wished she wouldn't interrupt him. "The war against the Goa'uld's been on the back burner for a while now," he added. "You know how I feel about you and I hope you feel the same way."

She nodded, her eyes wide. "I do, Jack," she said softly.

He produced the small velvet box he'd acquired that morning and flicked it open to reveal an amethyst ring set in fine white gold. "You're a beautiful young girl and I'm an over-the-hill fly-boy, but would you …?"

The room suddenly disappeared from his view and he and Sandra were now someplace else.

"Thor!!" he yelled.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

"Greetings, O'Neill."

"Thor … buddy …". Jack ran his hand through his hair. "Your timing sucks."

The Supreme Commander of the Asgard fleet tilted his head, his huge black eyes unfathomable. "I apologize, O'Neill, for disturbing your rest, but your presence is requested on Othalla."

"Uh … okay," Jack said lamely. "This is Sandra, by the way."

Was it is his imagination, or did a flicker of mirth pass over his little gray buddy's face? "Greetings, Sandra. I am Thor."

"Hi," Sandra said, extending her small hand to Thor's not-much-smaller one. They clasped hands briefly.

"We must detour by the Tok'ra planet designated Bel'nath," Thor said. "Garshaw of Belote is said to be there."

Sandra grinned. "Thor; your intel's a little out of date. Garshaw was on Earth until a couple minutes ago." Her head dipped downward then Jack's favorite snake said, "I am Garshaw of Belote. It is an honor to meet you at last."

Thor recovered quickly – Jack gave him points for that. "I am also honored," he replied. "You have become well known amongst the Asgard."

"And notorious amongst the Goa'uld," Garshaw said. "But I must agree with General O'Neill – your timing sucks."

Jack blinked at the slang – Garshaw really had loosened up since blending with Sandra. "Yeah, Thor; what d'you want with us?"

"It is not I, O'Neill, but the High Council," Thor said. "As I am the Asgard you are most familiar with, they sent me to retrieve you. As for what they wish to discuss, I am not privy to that information."

"Politics, huh?"

"Indeed."

Another thing Jack and Thor had in common – distaste for politicians.

Thor pressed a button on his console and another Asgard walked in. "This is my aide, Woden. He will show you to your sleeping chambers." A definite flicker of mischief skipped over his face. "We have prepared a bed to your specifications, O'Neill," he added, then dipped his head to Sandra. "We will not have to make special arrangements for you."

Sandra's head dipped then she grinned. "Could we share quarters?" she asked. "You kinda interrupted us in a moment."

"Of course." Thor turned to Woden and said something in the melodic Asgard tongue. he turned back. "Woden does not speak your language yet," he said, "but he will show you to the chamber. We have taken the liberty of bringing some clothing for you. I am sure you do not wish to wear the same thing for the next four days."

Jack chuckled. "Yeah; it'd get a bit ripe," he said. He turned to Woden. "Well, lead on, buddy!"

The Asgard looked at him blankly then Sandra said something in what sounded like Latin. Woden dipped his head and replied.

"She speaks the language of the Ancients," Thor said. "I … do not understand."

Neither did Jack. "She's full of surprises," he said lamely.

Sandra tucked her hand into his. "C'mon, fly-boy; this-a-way." She smiled at Thor. "It was a pleasure to meet you," she added. "perhaps we can talk later?"

"I would enjoy that," Thor replied.

* * *

Sandra followed their diminutive guide down the long elegant hallways of the Asgard ship, her engineer's eyes noting everything. She stopped at an open panel and looked at it. "Geez," she said. "These guys have organic technology." She could have stayed there for the next three hours, but for the fact that an Asgard engineer was clearly keen for her to get out of the way. The Asgard had their own version of the Prime Directive, and viewed humans as little more than children.

She clasped Jack's hand. "Yes, by the way." This wasn't exactly how she'd pictured accepting a proposal, but there was no sense in beating around the bush.

"Huh?" For a doctor of theoretical astrophysics, he sometimes wasn't very quick. Then a big grin spread over his face. He squeezed her hand. "Really?"

"Really." Woden showed them into their quarters which, Sandra was relieved to see, held a good-sized bed for Jack's long frame.

Woden touched her shoulder and chattered rapidly in the Ancients' tongue. Sandra shook her head. She'd learned the language pretty well over the last few years, but she couldn't understand it at railroad speed. "Slower, please, Woden," she told him in Ancient.

He showed her how the food dispensers worked as well as the wash facilities. Then he bowed slightly to her. "You are an unusual human, Sandra," he said. "It is very peculiar that you and O'Neill, another Touched by the Ancients, should be mated."

It was a bit freaky. Although Sandra hadn't been "touched" by the Ancients in the same way as Jack, it was weird that the two of them had had similar experiences. Capture by Ba'al, covert operations, blending with the Tok'ra …

"Coincidence," she said airily.

Woden tilted his head. "Yes," he said. "I do not believe in a higher power manipulating events for their own ends." With that, he left the chamber.

Sandra crossed over to the viewport and slid her arms around Jack's waist. She kissed the nape of his neck. "So … where were we?" she asked softly.

He turned and dug the velvet box out of his pocket. "Sandra," he said, "I had a great speech in my head, but it's gone now. So … I love you and I want you to be my wife."

**_Say yes, you idiot!_**, Garshaw chided. "Yes, you nut!" Sandra said as he opened the box. Amethyst – her birth stone. He was a lot more romantic than anyone would have pegged him for. He slid the ring gently onto her finger – it fit beautifully – then took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply.

She sighed happily and slid her hands under his tee shirt. His muscles bunched interestingly as he wrapped his arms around her, nipping softly at her neck. She laughed. "Again?" They hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other the last couple days.

"Uh-huh." A warm hand brushed at her hip. "Let's see just how tough an Asgard bed is." He tugged her over to the bed and fell backward onto it, pulling her on top of him as he went.

Clothes went flying across the small room and the laughter soon changed to passion.

Asgard beds were surprisingly sturdy, it turned out.

* * *

Thor dipped his head as his aide returned. "So; what did you think of the humans?" he asked.

"They are … unusual," Woden replied thoughtfully. "Not as primitive as I was lead to believe."

"Indeed," Thor said. "What they do not understand, they bluff through." Woden looked confused. "Human idiom," Thor added. "Present a façade, or pretend knowledge you do not possess."

They were indeed advanced for their kind, Thor mused. He'd met Jack O'Neill several years ago and had tested him by transporting him aboard the Beliskner without warning. O'Neill's lack of surprise had been a surprise. A quick look around, a couple of questions and that was it.

And since that meeting, O'Neill and his friends of SG-1 had saved the Asgard several times – including liberating him from the clutches of Anubis and ending the war against the Replicators. They were like children in some ways, these humans, and Jack O'Neill the biggest bravest child of them all. And Thor liked him.

As for the female – Sandra. At first glance, she would not have seemed suited to O'Neill. She was Tok'ra – and Thor knew O'Neill's feelings about that branch of the Goa'uld. And she was a scientist. But she was also stubborn, strong and passionate.

As the Goa'uld put it, they were hok'tar – advanced humans. Their progeny would be special; there would be no need to clone O'Neill, as Loki had wished. Thor closed his eyes at the thought of a second Jack O'Neill running around the universe. The universe could barely cope with one Jack O'Neill, let alone two. The Tauri expression 'dodged a bullet' popped into his mind.

He got up and headed along the corridor on his daily inspection. He always changed the times and routes – it would not do for his crew to become complacent, after all. He turned a corner and saw Sandra/Garshaw leaning against one of the viewports, eyes wide. "Greetings," he said, unsure whether he was talking to the host or the symbiote.

"Hey," she said – that was the host. She waved her hand at the nebula. "You know; I've seen a lot since I joined the Tok'ra, but that is beautiful."

"It is," Thor replied, noting with amusement that she was only a head taller than he. "I am carrying out a tour of this ship. Would you join me?" He wanted to get to know O'Neill's mate better.

"Sure," Sandra agreed. "You don't seem to share your crew's concern about exposing us to advanced technologies."

"I am ore familiar with you Earth humans than they are," Thor said, appreciating her bluntness. "You are making rapid advances in science and technology."

"Yeah; coming up with bigger and better ways of killing each other," Sandra said, sounding bitter. "I sometimes wonder why we're fighting so hard to save Earth from the Goa'uld – we can't even save it from ourselves."

"Yours is a young race – you will come through this turbulent childhood," Thor reassured her. "The Asgard were also once divided by racial and sectarian violence, as were the Nox, the Furlings and even the Ancients."

"Pretty heady company," Sandra commented as they turned a corner. She smiled at one of the crewmen and said hello in the Ancient tongue.

"You speak the Ancients' language well," Thor said.

Sandra grinned. "Not that well, but thanks," she said cheerfully.

"It's a hard language, but it's come in handy a few times during the war."

Thor looked up at her. "Sandra; what does woo-hoo mean?"

The female laughed. "It's an expression of jubilation," she told him.

"Then … O'Neill has made you happy?" Thor inquired. He had passed their quarters earlier as they were settling in and had heard the odd exclamation.

Sandra's skin went pink then she grinned. "Oh, yeah," she said.

Humans were mysterious, but Thor liked them.

* * *

There was something very appealing about this little guy, Sandra decided, shortening her stride to match Thor's gait. Maybe it was the whole big-eyed Roswell thing … who knew?

She twiddled the new ring, wondering if she'd done the right thing by accepting Jack's proposal. After all, he was still needed on Earth, and she couldn't live there. All it would take was an accident, some yahoo intern and a CAT scan, and the jig would be up. **_Am I doing the right thing?_**, she asked Garshaw.

**_Yes_**, Garshaw replied without hesitation. **_You belong together – all other considerations are irrelevant._**

Sandra chuckled. **_Turning into the Borg on me, are you?_**, she teased. She'd never watched sci-fi much when she was younger, but she'd joined SG-1 on some of their team nights. Teal'c was the biggest Trekkie …

Garshaw returned the laugh then sobered. **_He is a good, kind man, Sandra, who cares more deeply than he would like._**

**_Yeah_**, Sandra admitted. Most of her was jumping up and down, pumping her fists in the air, going "Yes!!". But a little part of her – the gal who'd been single for nearly twenty eight years – was curled up in a corner, knees to chest, rocking back and forth and gibbering quietly. **_It's just … two days ago, I thought we'd split for good._**

Even after nearly four years together, their passion for each other still ran red hot, as every part of her body could attest. But did they have enough to sustain a marriage? They didn't actually spend that much time together – long distance relationships rarely worked out.

Aaarrghh! She grimaced, wishing that she could stop over-analyzing things just once in her life. _Just take the chance, woman!_, she admonished herself. After all, her two spur-of-the-moment decisions had led her to where she was now – happy and fulfilled. She'd kissed Jack – her first kiss – and they were now engaged. She'd blended with Garshaw and had found strength, wisdom and a gentle friendship.

She grinned slightly, wondering what Gabe would have made of this development. He'd nearly choked when he'd learned about her and Jack …

* * *

**Flashback – two years earlier:**

Feeling absurdly shy, Sandra knocked on the door to her father's quarters. The door opened and a young dark SF gaped at her. "Whoa, momma," he muttered.

Sandra suppressed the urge to put her 'Captain' head on. "Is Gabe in?" she said.

The SF pulled a face. "Some guys have all the luck," he complained. "Yo, Goldman – chick here to see you!"

Gabe appeared, looking very nice in a dark blue suit. "Hi," he said shyly. "You look nice."

"You, too," Sandra murmured. "Well, shall we …?"

"If you don't, Goldman, I will!" the SF said raucously.

Gabe swung on his room-mate. "Watch your mouth," he said genially then a spark of mischief lit up his blue eyes. "Oh, you haven't been introduced, have you? Private Daniel Rayburn; meet Captain Sandra Ryan – our superior officer and my step-daughter."

Sandra chuckled at Rayburn's open-mouthed shock. You could have parked a Buick in there. "At ease, Private," she said, then tucked her arm through Gabe's. "Let's go, Daddy," she said.

As they made their way up to the surface, Sandra began chuckling again. "Geez, Daddy; I think you scared him out of ten years growth," she said. "And, by the way, I retired nearly two years ago."

Gabe flashed the big confident grin she recalled from her childhood. "He doesn't need to know that," he said. "Besides, I didn't like the way he was eyeing you."

"Relax, Daddy; I'm twenty six now. I can take care of myself," she teased.

Gabe shook his head. "God; twenty six …," he said. "I've lost so much."

"No; you haven't," Sandra said. "We … misplaced it for a while, but we can get it back." She squeezed his arm, and his hand clasped hers briefly.

As they signed out, Sandra noticed the female SF blatantly checking her stepfather out. "Thank you, Corporal," she breathed, "and Captain," she added grudgingly.

"Good night, Private," Gabe said politely.

* * *

Seated in the restaurant with huge mugs of coffee, Sandra and Gabe shared stories from their life.

"So …," Sandra said, "did you ever re-marry?"

Gabe shook his head. "No," he said. "I was a mess until a few years ago and since then the Corps has kept me pretty busy. You?"

"I'm not married, but I'm involved with a really special guy," Sandra said.

"Oh?" He tilted his head, his blue eyes piercing into her gray ones. "One of the Tok'ra?"

"No," Sandra said, "it's … uh … Jack O'Neill."

"Jack O'Neill … Brigadier General Jack O'Neill?" Gabe nearly spit out his coffee, but remembered to swallow it just in time. "Baby; you can't be serious! The guy's my age!"

"I love him, Daddy," Sandra admitted, putting her hand on her father's clenched fist. "And he loves me."

"He's my age, and he's takin' advantage of a kid twenty years younger, and a subordinate." Gabe growled under his breath. "Did he … when you were on SG-1?"

"No," Sandra said quickly. "When we realized we liked each other, he transferred me to SG-8."

"So he's got that much sense," Gabe said. "But, kiddo … couldn't you have found someone your own age?"

"I don't want someone my own age, Daddy," Sandra explained patiently. "This may shock the hell out of you, but I'm in love with him. I find him hot."

"Huh?" Poor Gabe.

"Brigadier General O'Neill is a hottie with an ass that won't quit," Sandra said, pushing the envelope. "I went skinny-dipping with him this morning, and we did things that would scare the birds."

Gabe dropped his head into his hands. "I don't want to know," he mumbled, his face paler than usual.

Sandra patted her father's hand. "I'm sorry, Daddy, but your little girl is all grown up," she said.

He looked up. "Yeah, maybe," he said. "But if he hurts you, superior officer or not, I'll kill him," he added.

"Ah, come off it – this is me, remember?" Sandra teased him gently. "I know you're just a big ol' teddy bear under that bad-ass jarhead thing you got going on."

**End flashback**

* * *

"Hey; you ever gettin' outta there?" Jack said impatiently, opening the door to the shower, where Sandra had been luxuriating for nearly a half hour. Wet, naked blonde … _Nice._

She opened her eyes and grinned at him. "Geez; these Asgard showers rule!" she said.

Yeah. The perfect temperature and water pressure. Both Jack and Sandra had spent the last two days in Thor's home discovering the delights of Asgard facilities, and were in danger of developing a serious shower fetish. Screw their other technologies … the showers alone had earned the little gray people Jack's undying devotion.

Suddenly, Sandra hauled him into the shower with her. "Hey!" he said, not too indignantly.

She favored him with a sunny smile and whipped off his towel. "Just in the interests of water conservation, of course," she said.

"Uh-huh," he responded sarcastically, closing his eyes as she wrapped her arms around him, and began to methodically wash his back.

Twenty minutes later, the water began to cool and Sandra shivered. They stepped out of the cubicle and began to dry off; Jack making a great production out of patting her chest dry. She tutted cheerfully. "Pervert," she said.

He scrubbed a towel over his head, watching with interest as she bent over the sink to squeeze the excess water from her hair. What that girl did for a towel should be illegal! "You have any idea how beautiful you are?" he said, dropping a gentle kiss onto the nape of her neck.

She turned and kissed him. "I don't believe you, but I never get tired of hearing it," she said. Then her eyes widened. "Oh, shit …," she muttered. She whirled and whizzed to the head, where she proceeded to lose her breakfast.

"Okay; that's it," Jack said. "That's the fifth time you've thrown up since we got here. Time to get you to a doctor, kid."

She huddled on the floor, shoulders shaking. "Oh, God …," she choked out. "Garshaw's just … told me."

"Told you what?" Panic made him grip her shoulders and haul her up to face him.

A tear trickled out of her eye. "I'm … pregnant, Jack," she said.

Pregnant? Jack stared at her. "What? How?" he asked stupidly.

"How d'you think?" she snapped at him, then her shoulders slumped. "I didn't think … Tok'ra could get pregnant," she said. "We've not used protection for years – how did this not happen sooner?"

_Pregnant? Wow …_ A big stupid grin spread over his face. "Uh … is this a good thing?" he inquired anxiously. _Please, God, say yes!_

She looked at him then a small smile slipped over her face. She wrapped her arms around his waist. "Yes," she said. "I thought you weren't happy, though, because of Charlie …"

"I'll always love Charlie," Jack admitted, "but I'll love our child just as much." He placed a hand on her belly and she covered it with her own.

She rested her bright head on his shoulder then nuzzled his neck. "I love you, fly-boy," she said.

"I love you, too," she said, "and I want to marry you."

She chuckled, nipped gently at his neck, then stepped back from him and began to dress. "That's hardly news, you nut," she pointed out.

"No; soon as possible," he said. "I want our baby to be born to parents with the same name. It's old fashioned, but …"

"I want that, too," Sandra admitted, "but we've still got time yet. Let's get this Asgard meeting over with, then we can make plans. Okay?"

* * *

**_How did this happen?_**, Sandra asked as she and Jack followed Thor along the corridors of the Asgard High Council building.

**_I … do not know_**, Garshaw admitted. **_It has always been understood that Tok'ra could not produce offspring – that is why our numbers are dwindling. Unless …_**

_**Unless what?**_

**_Unless it is because Jack was blended with Kanan_**, Garshaw replied. **_Kanan has had offspring with his other host. But the mothers in those cases were unblended humans. I do not understand._**

Sandra started. **_The Tok'ra version of the Harsesis? It … can't be! No … it won't be that. It wasn't a proper blending like you and I. Kanan just hijacked his body._**

**_I hope you are correct, Sandra_**, Garshaw replied soberly. **_A Tok'ra Harsesis would be a terrible threat to the Goa'uld – its life would be forfeit even before its birth._**

Sandra bit her lip. **_I'll go to Kheb before I allow that to happen_**, she vowed.

"Sandra?" Thor touched her arm lightly. "You and O'Neill are expected." He indicated the open door to their left.

"Ah. right." She linked her hand with Jack's and he gave it a tender squeeze. "Let's roll," she added.

The doors opened and she and Jack walked in to a large chamber filled with literally hundreds of Asgard. "Whoa …," she muttered.

"Gentle-beings of the Asgard, and our allies of the Nox, the Furlings and the Free Jaffa," Thor declaimed, "I present General O'Neill of Earth and Garshaw of the Tok'ra."

**_Ah, the life of a star_**, Garshaw muttered.

**_Yuketty-yuk-yuk_**, Sandra replied. **_You're on._** She closed her eyes and allowed Garshaw to assume control.

* * *

After the formal meeting – which was to discuss making the alliance official – Garshaw returned control to Sandra. **_I believe that Jaffa wishes to speak with you_**, she said.

Sandra looked at the tall Jaffa. "Leyr'ak?" she choked out.

"Ryan," he said, extending his hand and clasping her forearm tightly. "Tek matté."

She returned the clasp, her brain reeling. "Tek ma'tek, Leyr'ak. But … I thought you were dead."

Leyr'ak grinned at her. "So did I, little warrior. But the Asgard transported us up from Yu's ship before his First Prime could execute us, and brought us here. Our numbers have grown, and there are now over two thousand of us."

"I'm glad," Sandra said. "We need more Free Jaffa." She looked at him, only now realizing how good looking he was, with his dark skin and black eyes. She smiled slightly. There was nothing wrong in getting an eyeful of gorgeous male – she might be Tok'ra, but she was also still human!

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Leyr'ak asked. "Are you with O'Neill?"

"In every way," she admitted, placing a hand unconsciously on her stomach. "But it was actually Garshaw the High Council wanted to talk to."

"Garshaw … of Belote?" The Jaffa looked awed. "You are host to Garshaw?"

"Yep; nearly four years now," she said. "Since our blending, I've worked a lot with the Jaffa rebels. I really respect what you and yours are working for."

"And you have long had my respect, Ryan," Leyr'ak said. A glint of mischief lit up his dark eyes. "Ever since you threw me against a tree, in fact."

Sandra colored. "You weren't the first that happened to, and you weren't the last," she admitted.

"That is good to know," he replied. "A male's ego is a fragile thing."

Sandra chuckled as Jack strolled over to them, trying to be nonchalant. "Don't I know it!" she muttered.

* * *

Jack stuffed his fists in his pockets and decided to introduce himself to the Jaffa. "Hey, kids," he said, ignoring the probability that the Jaffa was actually decades older than him. "Care to introduce me, Sandra?"

"Hey," she replied, sliding her arm round his waist. "This is Leyr'ak, formerly First Prime to Heru-ur, now chief of Goa'uld whumping in this galaxy. Leyr'ak; my fiancé, Jack O'Neill." Fiancé – that had a nice ring to it.

"Tek matté, O'Neill," the Jaffa said.

"Back at ya," Jack said. "I … uh … I thought Kytano …"

"Killed me?" Leyr'ak smiled. "Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated." He frowned slightly. "What is … fiancé?" he added.

Jack grinned. "It means we are getting married, buddy!" he said happily.

Leyr'ak dipped his head. "I am pleased for you, O'Neill," he said. "A man needs a mate, although you may have trouble with this one. She has the heart of a warrior."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," Sandra muttered, looking a little gray. Her hand came up to her mouth. "Oh, God … where's the toity?"

"Toity?" Leyr'ak said.

"Uh … I'll ask Thor," Jack said.

She suddenly smiled at him, her color having returned to normal. "I'm okay now," she said. "Garshaw's learning how to deal with the bubba – same as me."

Jack brushed his lips across the soft ski of her cheek. "Good," he said, remembering how miserable Sara had been during her pregnancy. She'd flatly refused to go through that again – but that could have been because of his frequent absences on Black Ops missions.

He wasn't going to make that same mistake with Sandra. He'd write to the Chiefs of Staff and take a leave of absence – God knows he'd accumulated enough time – until the baby was born.

* * *

"Conception took place approximately thirteen of your weeks ago," the Asgard doctor told Sandra and Jack, putting his scanner away. "Every indication shows a strong healthy female."

"A-ah!" Jack put his hand to his head. "I didn't want to know!"

The Asgard tilted his head. "Humans are very peculiar," he offered.

"Yeah," Sandra said with a grin. Girl, boy … she was happy either way. "But I always thought Tok'ra couldn't get pregnant. Is it something to do with … Jack having been a host?" _Please, no …_, she prayed.

"No," the Asgard said swiftly. "The few protein markers left by the Tok'ra are not responsible. You are both … advanced genetically for your kind. That is why O'Neill's contact with the Repository did not destroy him, and why your blending with the Tok'ra Garshaw was achieved so easily."

_Easily?_ Sandra blinked then recalled the lack of pain and the almost instant connection between her and Garshaw. **_Hok'tar_**, Garshaw murmured. **_I suspected as much, but was not sure._**

"Hold the phone!" Jack blurted out. "If I'm advanced … which I doubt … then why didn't Barbie Goa'uld pick up on it during her damn tests?"

The Asgard tilted his head. "Barbie?"

"Nirrti," Jack said tersely. "A few years ago, she captured me and the kids, looking for what she called Hok'tar. She killed two of the Russians, and damn near killed us too!"

"Ah." The Asgard blinked his large eyes. "When you visited this planet last, a marker was placed in your genes to prevent tampering. We … have been doing this for many of your years, in an attempt to preserve your people from experimentation."

Jack scrubbed his hands over his face then snickered. "I'm an advanced human," he said. "God help us all. What d'you think, Sandra?"

**_I think he is going to be insufferably pleased with himself for at least a month!_**, Garshaw commented wearily.

Sandra sniggered, and both Jack and the Asgard looked at her. "Private joke," she said hurriedly.

Jack's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she rushed on to continue. "Makes sense, though," she mused. "You've had deep contact with Ancient technology twice, and you're still sane."

"Yeah."

"Kinda," she added cheerfully. He put his tongue out at her. "For me; the blending with Garshaw wasn't half as painful as she'd warned me."

"Wow; advanced humans," Jack muttered.

Sandra rolled her eyes, barely resisting the urge to smack him upside the head. "Come on, Hok'tar," she said, getting up off the bed. "We've got a wedding to plan."

He saluted her. "Yes, ma'am!" he said cheekily.

The urge to smack him was getting strong. Couldn't he ever be serious? She knew his sarcastic quips were his way of coping with the universe, but she just wasn't in the mood right now.

Fortunately for him, he sobered as they headed out of the medical bay. "A girl …," she breathed. "A tiny little replica of you, I hope," he said.

"With your eyes," she responded. She could picture it now – a little blonde with big brown eyes. She'd run rings around her father, and he'd love every minute of it.

"Geez; she'll be a heart-breaker," he said. "Any guys start sniffing around her, they'll be dead."

"Easy, Pops," she said, squeezing his hand. "She isn't even born yet and you're taking out a hit on the local boys." She sighed and rested her head on his chest. "Weird, though, how quickly things change. Just this morning, we were having hot lovin' in the shower, and now we're talking about marriage and kids."

* * *

"What the hell …?" Lieutenant Colonel Carter – temporary CO of the SGC – muttered. The 'gate had been activated, plunging the complex into darkness. "Asgard – it's got to be," she complained. Because of the distance between the Asgard homeworld and Earth, extra energy was necessary to power the 'gate.

"Receiving … Tok'ra IDC, Colonel," Sergeant Harriman said.

"Open the iris," Sam said, twisting at her wedding ring, then remembering that she'd left it back at the house. She and Pete had been having problems for a few weeks now, and they'd decided to separate for a while. He was absolutely convinced that there was something between her and General O'Neill, despite his obvious love for Sandra Ryan.

She sighed wearily, sick of the jealousy and the daily arguments. Something told her that this separation would become permanent.

The wormhole whooshed out and … O'Neill and Sandra appeared. The General had his arm around the young woman's shoulders, and wore the biggest grin she'd ever seen. Not his usual smug grin, or sarcastic quirk – but a big honest-to-goodness grin of pure joy.

"Hey, kids – don't shoot," he offered to the SFs. He looked up and shook a fist at Sam. "You're supposed to be on down-time, Colonel!" he shouted.

She activated the mike. "So are you, sir," she shot back with a helpless grin. No matter how bleak her mood, one of his silly quips could always make her smile.

The wormhole deactivated, and the iris slid closed. "Where on Earth have you been, General?" she asked.

"Long story, Colonel," he replied. "Meet me in my office in ten, Carter – we've got news."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Sam frowned. "I thought Tok'ra couldn't get pregnant?" she said.

Sandra smiled at her friend. "We were wrong," she said, not wanting to go into the whole hok'tar thing. Besides, Sam's case was different – Jolinar had died inside of her, and had altered her body chemistry beyond repair. Children were highly unlikely for her. She put a hand to her stomach. "I'm due in about six months," she added.

Sam smiled back at her. "I'm happy for you both," she said. "So … will it be Ryan or O'Neill?"

"I was thinking of double-barreling," Jack said. "Make it Baby Ryan O'Neill."

Sam groaned, and Sandra frowned – what was so funny? "Geez, General; I hope this baby isn't born with your sense of humor," Sam complained.

"What?" said Sandra. "What's so funny about double-barreling?"

This time Jack groaned. "Okay; now I feel about a thousand," he said. "Trust me, Sandra; anyone over the age of thirty would complain about that name."

"Ah; you're on the way-back machine, huh?" Sandra said lightly, patting his hand. "Anyway, the baby will be O'Neill – we're getting married as soon as we can get General Hammond's butt on a plane from DC."

Sam stretched her hand out to Jack's and shook it firmly, then kissed Sandra's cheek. "Congratulations, to both of you," she said. She grinned at Sandra. "I never thought I'd see the day when he'd marry a Tok'ra," she teased.

"Weird, huh?" Jack said. "But I have it on good authority that Garshaw likes me, too."

"Jack," Sandra said, "I'll need to go back to Bel'nath for a bit. I want Jacob to give me away – he's been like a father to me the last few years."

"Sure," Jack said. "Nice touch. I'll ring David and Jill … and Mom and Dad."

"Hmmm … so much for having the wedding there," Sandra said. "I was kinda hoping to get married in front of the 'gate."

"We couldn't anyway – what about Cassie?" Jack reminded her.

"Ouch. Well, I want the wedding to go off with a bang, but not literally," Sandra quipped, then shuddered, recalling the last wedding she'd attended. She shook her head, not wanting to get maudlin. "We've still got a day free – let's fly up to DC and see the General."

* * *

**Two weeks later:**

Jack tugged nervously at his tie, wondering what the hell he'd let himself in for. He'd given Carter and Sandra two weeks because he hadn't thought they'd be able to pull this off.

But they had, and he was standing in a private room in Alfredo's with over a hundred guests watching him eagerly. "Hey, Jack, relax – you're not being shot at dawn," his brother said, patting his shoulder. "Besides, I don't think the big guy would let you make a run for it."

Jack shifted and looked at Teal'c, who tilted an eyebrow and gave an ironic smile – that smile that shouted _move and you will not live long to regret it_. "Yeah," he said.

His former CO clapped him on the shoulder. "Son; if I know anything about women, she'll be just as nervous as you are."

The doors opened, and Carter, Cassie, Hailey and Jill stepped into the room in floating dresses of a pale lilac color. Then Jacob appeared. "Look at Jacob – he looks so dignified," Jack said.

"That's because he's got a hangover that would kill a horse," Daniel said.

"Ah." Say no more. Jacob had really tied one on last night and, for some reason, Selmak had not negated the effects. Maybe even a snake had no power against the rot-gut General Carter had put away.

Jacob turned and drew Sandra into the room. Jack forgot his nerves and just stared at her. An angel … she looked like an angel. Dressed in a slim-fitting white sheath and carrying lilies, she glowed. "Wow," he muttered.

"Eyes front, Airman," Hammond teased him.

Sandra appeared at his side and Jacob fell rather than sat on the father of the bride's seat. "Hey, fly-boy," she said, putting her hand into his.

"Hey, jarhead," he replied, touching her cheek with his free hand.

* * *

"Congratulations," Daniel said, shaking Jack's hand then kissing Sandra lightly on the cheek.

"Indeed," Teal'c said. "I wish you many years of happiness, and strong healthy children. If they are even half as stubborn as you, they will do well."

Sandra grinned. "Thanks. I think," she said. Her heart pounded as a small gray-haired lady with the O'Neill brown eyes bore down on them. Kathleen and Robert O'Neill's flight had been delayed and they had therefore not yet met.

"I'm Jack's mother." The woman said, pressing a kiss to Sandra's cheek. "I'm so happy you've joined the family, my dear – Jack's conversations have been full of you. Where's your mother? I'd like to meet her."

Sandra blinked. "She's not here," she said. "She left when I was a kid, and my father died a couple years later."

"Oh, that's a shame," Kathleen said. "You should always have family on your wedding day."

"I've got family," Sandra said, waving her arm around the room. "They may be … odd and not related to me, but they're family."

A tall, broad-shouldered man with the pips of a four star General came over to Jack. Jack saluted and they began a low, urgent conversation. Sandra frowned. "Excuse me," she said to Kathleen.

She went over to her husband – wow, that so did not get old! – and put her arm around him. "You'd better not be talking about work, O'Neill," she said. "Good afternoon, sir," she added to the General. Retired she may be, but Force manners came to her aid.

"Good afternoon, young lady," the General said. "And congratulations on your marriage. Which service?"

"Marine Corps, but retired, General," she said. "Not to be rude, sir, but I hope you're not here on Air Force business?"

The General smiled wryly at her, with oddly familiar gray eyes. "Not at all," he said. "I was in Colorado visiting Cheyenne Mountain and learned of Jack's upcoming marriage, so I thought I'd drop by." He patted her shoulder and added, "I had the misfortune of being his commanding officer during his basic training. The most cocky, smart-mouthed cadet ever."

Sandra giggled. "Can I know your name, sir?" she asked.

"Jack Ryan," he replied.

She blinked. "I think my hearing just went on the fritz. Say again?"

"Jack Ryan."

Jack Ryan. Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff … full clearance for the SGC … and her grandfather. Ol' Bullet-Head Ryan himself. "Uh … uh …". Her life was turning into a soap opera, for crying out loud! "This is so not the way I thought I'd run into you again," she said.

The General looked at her. "You do look familiar," he admitted. Then his eyes widened. "Sandra," he breathed, putting a hand to her cheek.

* * *

Jack chatted lightly with Jonas and Hailey, who'd come in together from the base, while keeping an eye on Sandra and General Ryan. She seemed to be handling the reunion okay. "So, how's life in Kelowna, Jonas?" he asked.

The younger man smiled. "Pretty good," he said. "My team is working hard on the naquadria refining process, but Lieutenant Hailey sticks around to remind me to take a break now and then."

Hailey grinned at her CO. "It's a tough job, General, but someone has to do it," she said, the grin changing to a tender smile as Jonas put a friendly arm around her shoulders.

"And you do it very well, Jennifer," Jonas said. "I don't know what I'd do if you weren't around."

"Well," Hailey said, putting her hand on his, "you don't have to do without me."

Suddenly feeling like the fifth wheel, Jack said, "Excuse me, kids," and beat a hasty retreat. He went over to Jacob Carter, who nursed a bottle of mineral water and looked grim. "Hey, Jacob," he said.

"Jack," Jacob muttered, squinting up at Jack. "You look after that girl, you hear me?"

"I will," Jack said, glad that Sandra had such a good friend amongst the Tok'ra. The others cared for her, but were separated from her by Garshaw's status. Jacob/Selmak didn't seem to care that she was their leader, and looked after her like a daughter. "She looks beautiful, doesn't she?" he added as she went back over to his mother.

"Yeah …," Jacob said, a gentle indulgent smile on his face. "Like an angel." He groaned and put his head into his hands. "Next time you see me drinking, Jack, just take me outside and shoot me, huh? It'd hurt less."

"I thought Tok'ra were impervious to alcohol because of the snake?" Jack said.

"Usually we are," Jacob said. "For some reason, Selmak wants me to suffer through this hangover."

* * *

Jack wandered over to his wife and slid an arm around her waist, detecting the little pudge that sheltered their daughter. "Hey," he said. "Did I remember to tell you I love you?" he said.

She turned and put her arms around his waist, putting her head to his chest. "You remembered," she said, "but it's not something I get tired of hearing." She tilted her head back. "Did I tell you how gorgeous you look in your Class A's?"

"Ahem!" his father said in amused tones. "Don't hog my new daughter in law, fly-boy – I want to meet her."

Jack closed his eyes. "Hey, Dad," he said. "This is Sandra."

"Pleased to meet you, dear," Robert O'Neill said, raising her hand to his lips. "Tell me; weren't there any Marines you could have married? Where's your loyalty?"

Sandra laughed. "You were a Marine?" she asked.

"Thirty years," Robert said. "How Kathleen, an Army Major, and I, a Marine Corps Colonel, produced an Air Force General I'll never know."

"He's okay, though," Sandra said, pressing a kiss to Jack's lips. "I love him a lot."

Jack was sorely tempted to kick everyone out and take his wife home, but he clamped down on the thought. She'd worked so hard to make this day perfect.

"I just wish Daddy could've been here," she said now. She grinned. "I can just imagine what he'd say about a bunch of Irish-Catholic in-laws."

Jack chuckled, having gotten to know Gabe fairly well during the man's posting at the SGC. He'd come to Jack shortly after his reunion with Sandra; not as a Corporal to his CO, but as a concerned father – a concerned big father – to the guy taking advantage of his little girl. They'd talked for a long time and had come to an understanding. "They would've stuck up for themselves okay," he said.

Sandra smiled at her new in-laws. "My stepfather was Jewish," she said, "so I grew up with both faiths."

"So, you do celebrate Christmas, then?" Kathleen said. "Not just Hanukkah."

"When I have the chance," Sandra said. "I tend to be … uhm … doing other things around Christmas." Like infiltrating Goa'uld fortresses and plotting against the System Lords."

"Ah," former-Major O'Neill said, raising her eyebrows. "Say no more, dear – we all know what life in the service is like."

Sandra looked relieved the subject had dropped. There was a definite advantage in having high-ranking service personnel as in-laws – they knew not to press for details of missions. "So tell me," she continued, "how did you two meet?"

"I was stationed in a MASH unit during the Korean war," Kathleen said, "as Chief Nurse. We saw a lot of action. Then one day, a Marine battalion arrived – they'd bugged out and lost half their supplies." She smiled slightly. "They were led by a tall bullheaded Colonel who thought he could order my nurses and I around. He learned!"

Robert smiled. "There I was; a decorated Colonel in the Marine Corps being dressed down by a ninety-pound soaking wet little spitfire. I was about to complain to her CO, when wounded were brought in. I got to watch her carrying out triage, which was usually done by doctors, and saw the tender woman beneath the red hair and bad temper. I asked her out the next day and we were married just after the war ended."

"So; have you talked about children yet?" Kathleen asked.

"Kath; it's their wedding day – give them a chance!" her husband scolded lightly.

"Actually," Jack said, "you are going to be grandparents again – in six months' time."

Kathleen sprang forward and wrapped her arms around Sandra. "Oh! That's wonderful," she said as her husband performed the same office for the startled Jack. "Have you registered with an OB-GYN yet? And then there's Lamaze. And we'll have to get a nursery all fitted out …".

"Mom!" Jack said, trying not to laugh. "Give us a chance. We can take care of all that. I have done this before, you know."

"And I already have an excellent doctor," Sandra put in quietly. The CMO at Cheyenne Mountain was the only doctor with sufficient clearance to work with a pregnant Tok'ra, and would therefore look after Sandra throughout her pregnancy. An eyebrow raised. "Uh-oh … look who it isn't," she said. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go kick someone's butt."

She headed toward the door and Robert raised his eyebrows. "Was she serious?" he said.

"Quite likely," Jack said. "She's a lot tougher than she looks. She'll never start a fight, but she'll sure as hell finish it."

"She's perfect for you, son," Kathleen said, "but maybe you should go after her. She's not got just herself to think of now."

* * *

Sandra strode over to the newcomer. "No trouble, Pete," she said, putting her hand on his broad chest.

"Hi, Sandra," Pete Shanahan said wearily. "Congratulations, by the way."

"Yeah, thanks. What d'you want?"

"I want to talk to Sam."

"Well, she might not want to talk to you," Sandra said. "D'you have any idea how badly you hurt her with those ridiculous accusations? Yes; she and Jack were attracted to each other for a while, but they never let it interfere with their work, and they both moved on!"

"Yeah …".

"You're my friend, and she's my friend, but let me tell you something, mister! You hurt her anymore and you'll know all about it!"

"Sandra …".

"She loves you, you jackass! Yeah; she thinks Jack's attractive – she's married, not blind, for crying out loud – but she's in love with you! And if you try to claim you've never thought another woman attractive since marrying Sam, you're lying."

"Sandra …". He grasped her shoulders.

"What??"

"You're right. I came to apologize to her," Pete said.

"Oh!" Sandra took a breath. "Then what the hell are you wasting my time for? She's over there." She jerked her thumb in Sam's direction.

"Thanks," Pete said, and shook his head as he strode away. "Wow; and people call me moody!"

"I heard that!" Sandra called after him with a grin.

* * *

Several hours later, Jack scooped a squirming giggling Sandra into his arms then fumbled for his keys. _Great planning, you jerk!_, he mourned.

Sandra snorted inelegantly against his shoulder then said, "Allow me, fly-boy." She put her hand in his pocket then waggled her eyebrows. "Well, hello," she purred. "Are those your keys or are you pleased to see me?"

She passed him the keys and he finally managed to get the door open. "Welcome home, Mrs. O'Neill," he said, still unable to believe that this amazing beautiful woman was his wife and was going to make him a father again.

She allowed him to set her on her feet then he put a hand to her stomach. "And to you too, Bubba," he added.

Sandra smiled at him then wrapped her arms around his neck. "I love you," she said quietly, tilting her lips up to his neck, and kissing the pulse. "So!" she added, "how's about some coffee?"

"Great," he said, dragging off his tie with relief. "Let's get changed first, though," he added. Much as he was itching to get out of the Class A's, he was reluctant for Sandra to change out of her gown – she was quite possibly exquisite. Although she looked great in battered jeans and one of his hockey shirts, come to think of it.

"Yeah," she replied, unclipping her veil from the silver tiara.

"Damn!" he muttered, only just now seeing the back of the dress. Whilst the front had a modest vee neckline, the back plunged right down to the small of her back, showing off a good quantity of smooth pale skin. "That's some dress you're almost wearing," he said, putting a hand to her back.

She grinned. "Thought you'd like it," she said, going up the stairs. "I remembered how you reacted to my outfit at Sirena's wedding."

They reached the bedroom and Sandra sighed, kicking off her elegant heeled sandals. "Ooof!" she said, shrinking by several inches. "Oh, better – I think my feet were about to fall off." She flopped onto the bed and closed her eyes. "Mmmm," she mumbled around a yawn.

"Come on, jarhead – you can't sleep like that," Jack said.

She put her tongue out at him then sat up, attacking the buttons at the side of her dress. "Why don't you take a nap?" he said. "I'll wake you up in a couple hours."

She yawned. "Some wedding night, fly-boy," she said. "I'll be …". Her eyes closed.

"She will sleep," Garshaw said suddenly. "She will call me many names for a while, but she needs all her strength over the next few months."

"If I have anything to do with it, she'll rest," Jack said.

Garshaw patted his cheek. "I always liked you, young man," she said. She got up and pulled out Sandra's favorite Homer tee shirt from the closet, wriggling quickly into it. She turned to face him. "You suit each other well – I offer all my best wishes for the future."

"Thank you, Garshaw," Jack said to his favorite snake. He'd always respected Garshaw and Selmak, but had never thought he would personally like a Tok'ra – especially after Kanan. And who let that thought out of its cage?

* * *

Sandra woke up, blinking in confusion. **_Garshaw …_**, she growled.

**_Yes, Sandra?_**, Garshaw replied in dulcet tones.

Sandra didn't buy the wide-eyed innocence. **_It's my wedding day and you put me to sleep?_**

**_Indeed_**, Garshaw said. **_If you will not look after yourself, then I must do it._**

**_Still, I'd prefer you not to hijack my body_**, Sandra shot back. **_Don't be turning all Goa'uld on me._**

Silence greeted that little outburst. **_Oh, geez._** Sandra scrubbed her hands over her face. **_I know you were only thinking about me and the baby, but I'd prefer you not to take over without warning._**

**_I apologize_**, Garshaw returned gently. **_I am having difficulty in dealing with the extra hormones your body is producing. They appear to be exacerbating my 'mother hen' proclivities._**

Sandra chuckled and got out of bed. **_Better go see what Jack's up to_**, she commented. She pattered down the stairs and headed into the kitchen, where Jack was retrieving something from the freezer. She got an eyeful of denim-clad rear – _nice._

She went over to him and kissed the nape of his neck. "Hey," she said.

He turned and gave her a gentle smile, his brown eyes warm and appreciative. "Hey," he replied. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," she said, reaching round him for a tub of Cookie Dough. "I hadn't realized how wiped out I was." She dipped a spoon into the ice cream and absorbed it slowly. She giggled as she felt Garshaw's bliss – **_In over two thousand years, I have never tasted anything better than this Tauri chocolate._**

"What?" Jack said patiently – he'd gotten used to Sandra's one-side conversations over their years together.

"I think I've turned Garshaw into a chocoholic," Sandra replied, putting the ice cream back in the freezer. Chocolate was all very well, but this was her wedding day. Jack straightened up and she slipped her arms around his waist, nipping gently at his neck.

He turned in her embrace and put the steak on the counter, then put his hands to her face, kissing her deeply and sensuously. Geez; could the guy kiss! He slid his hands under her tee shirt and she breathed in unsteadily as his long fingers cupped the slight swell of her abdomen. "I think one of us is wearing too many clothes," she said, tugging his shirt free of his jeans …

Some time later, they lay together in bed, a blissful tangle of arms and legs. She kissed her fly-boy's chest. "I love you, Brigadier General O'Neill," she said.

His heart pounded under her lips. "I love you, too, Mrs. O'Neill."

* * *

**One month later:**

"Welcome back, sir, Sandra," Sam greeted them. "I've sent word to my dad that you're on your way."

Sandra smiled at her friend, startled at the change a month had wrought. Never a large woman, Sam Carter was thin and pale, her eyes huge. Sandra noted that she was wearing her wedding ring once more, and was glad that she and Pete had worked things out. "Are you okay, Sam?" she asked.

Sam smiled. "Fine," she said. "Now. I've just gotten over a bad case of flu."

"Well, that husband of yours better have looked after you," Jack teased. "You work too hard, Carter."

"Look who's talking … sir," Sam replied. "I could swear you were taking a leave of absence."

Sandra rolled her eyes, glad she'd talked him out of that idea. He'd go nuts without his job, and she had one mother hen already – she sure as hell didn't need another. "I changed his mind," she said. "I'm needed back on Bel'nath, so we figured he may as well drive you crazy as opposed to himself."

"Hey!" Brigadier General O'Neill sounded pissed. "I still think you should stay here."

Not this again. "Millions of pregnant women use the 'gate," Sandra said. "I'll be back in a couple of weeks. We both have people to care for."

Sam – seeming to sense an argument – left Jack's office quietly.

"You also have a baby to care for," Jack pointed out.

"The world won't come to an end just because I'm pregnant," Sandra said snippily. The urge to smack him upside the head surfaced, and she stifled it. For now. "I know you're worried about me, but billions of women have carried children and gotten on with their normal lives. Please don't smother me."

His eyes turned hard. "I hadn't realized that caring about the woman and child I love was regarded as mothering," he said.

Her fists clenched. The urge was amazingly strong. "It isn't, but you're taking it to extremes," she told him. "What happened with Charlie was a horrible, tragic …".

"This has nothing to do with Charlie," Jack denied furiously.

Bull. "Fine," Sandra replied. "I'm leaving now," she added. "I'll be back in a couple weeks – try to get a clue in the meantime, would you? I told you before I won't let you push me away."

"You're the one running away – not me," Jack said.

"Yeah; you're driving me crazy," Sandra shot back. "It's either get away for a while or beat the crap out of you."

* * *

"Welcome back, Sandra," Sirena said, giving Sandra a huge as she stepped away from the ring transport site. "How is General O'Neill?"

"An unbelievable ass at times, then sweet and caring at others," Sandra said. At the moment, he was an unbelievable ass. "So, what's doing? How's everyone here?"

"We are well," Sirena replied as they headed to the command center. "Selmak has asked to see you," she added.

"Me or Garshaw?"

"Both," Jacob Carter said, strolling in. "Welcome back, kiddo. What're you doing back here so soon?"

"Long story, Jacob," Sandra said, giving her favorite Tok'ra a warm hug. "I understand Selmak wishes to speak with us?"

Jacob's head dipped then Selmak spoke. "We have … received an invitation – Garshaw and I – to attend a gathering at Ba'al's fortress." He grimaced. "Apparently, he was most impressed with Garshaw's alter ego on your last visit, and wishes to get to know you better. Ba'al has included me this time."

Ba'al? That snaky SOB … "I think we should go," Sandra said. "And this time, we should kill his sorry ass." **_You okay with that, Garshaw?_**, she added.

**_Indeed_**, Garshaw replied. **_His usefulness to us has ended._**

Sandra smiled at Selmak. "Saddle up. Lock and load."

* * *

Jacob engaged the cloaking device as the teltak exited hyperspace. "We are not lost," he said.

"Geez." Sandra rolled her eyes. "We've passed that weird purple planetoid ten times already. Take a look at the star charts."

"I know where I'm going." Jacob put the teltak onto auto-pilot. "Has Sam ever told you what I do to back-seat drivers?"

Sandra laughed, less than intimidated by him. "Big bad Major General," she said. She got out of her seat and stretched lazily, the movement drawing his gaze to her. She was so lovely … but she was pregnant, and married to one of his best friends.

She headed to the front of the peltak and entered commands into the computer. "We're lost," she confirmed. "I knew I should've driven."

"Right." Jacob was amused. "Which of us is the decorated Air Force General and which of us the ground pounder?"

Sandra put her tongue out at him. "You're talking to the leader of this branch of the Tok'ra, fella," she said. "Just watch your step."

He saluted her. "Yes, ma'am!" he said, bringing a grin to her face. He touched her shoulder. "We weren't expecting you back so soon," he said. "Is everything okay?"

The animation left her face and she sighed heavily. "Not so much," she said. "Jack's … going overboard with me and the bubba. He's trying to make up for Sara and Charlie, but he's driving me crazy."

O'Neill's strong protective instincts could drive one crazy, Jacob mused. It made him an excellent leader, but he took it to extremes. When he'd first met Jack O'Neill, he'd looked up his record. There were significant gaps, followed by unexpected promotions and unexplained injuries. They had all screamed 'Black Ops' to him, and he'd wondered what the hell his daughter was involved in. But then he'd gotten to know the man better after he blended with Selmak.

"He's a good man, Sandra," he said now. "he loves you and you're carrying his baby – trust me; any expectant father carries on the same way."

Sandra sighed then smiled at him. "Yeah; I guess," she admitted, "but we're better off having a couple weeks apart. The SGC needs him, and the Tok'ra need me." She chuckled and passed him a crystal. "And you need me for map-reading."

He took the crystal and fed it into the computer. _Damn._ "Smart ass," he said.

She beamed at him. "Thank you." She patted his hand. "You sure you don't want me to drive?"

He laughed. "You know; somebody should paddle your little heinie – and I think I'm the man for that job."

"Yeah? You and whose army, buster?" she shot back. "I'm a Marine Corps Captain – I can kick your butt."

He swooped and flung her over his shoulder, mindful of the new life within her. She shrieked and laughed when he swatted her butt, kicking wildly. He overbalanced and crashed onto the floor of the teltak, a giggling blonde Tok'ra stretched across him. "You think that's funny, huh?" he said, wishing she didn't feel so soft … and smell so good.

She wiggled off of him, giving him a swift reminder that he might be old, but he was by no means dead. "Hell, yeah," she said, sitting down near him. Her eyes widened. "Holy crap," she added quietly, her hand shifting to the gentle curve of her stomach.

Oh, crap … "Did I hurt you?" he asked anxiously.

She smiled and shook her head. "No," she said. "The baby just moved."

He sat up and put a hand out. "Can I …?"

"You might not be able to feel it," she said, "but sure." She took his hand and pressed it to her stomach.

He felt nothing at first then he became aware of a gentle fluttering. "Holy Hannah," he said. "That's one strong little bugger."

She smiled again, her eyes luminous. "Yeah," she said. "She is so gonna kick ass."

He looked at her. _Ah, hell._ "Don't kill me," he said.

"What?" Sandra looked confused.

He put a hand to her face and pressed his lips gently to hers. She did not respond at first then she sighed and returned the kiss, her hands going around him to clutch at his shoulders.

* * *

"Don't kill me," Jacob said.

Talk about your non sequiturs. "What?" Sandra said with a frown.

Jacob put a hand to her face and kissed her softly on the lips. After a startled second – this was her best friend, for crying out loud! – she realized that this felt good. She opened her lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss, and put her hands to his shoulders.

It was so nice to be seen as a desirable woman – not just a woman with a child. Jack had barely touched her lately …

Oh, geez – what the hell was she doing? Married only a month, and she was making out with another guy? She pulled away from Jacob and rolled to her feet. "This … can't happen again," she said. "This isn't the way to fix my problems."

"I know," Jacob said, getting to his own feet. "I wish I could blame Selmak for this, but … you're just so beautiful."

"It wasn't Garshaw's feelings that made me kiss you back, Jacob," Sandra said, wincing at the unsteadiness in her voice. How the hell had this guy stayed single for so long? "You're an attractive man, but I'm in love with Jack."

"I know," Jacob replied. "And I am happy for you. I just wish he'd treat you better."

Sandra sighed. "I've been pretty bitchy the last couple of weeks myself," she admitted. "I don't know if I can fix this one, Jacob."

"You can do anything, kiddo," Jacob told her, heading back to the peltak with the crystal. "Let's get this mission over with, and get you back to Earth."

* * *

"Yeah." Her sad eyes brightened, and she headed over to him, putting her hand to his cheek. "You're such a nice guy, Jacob. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He groaned mentally at the soft touch. "Thanks," he said. "You go sack out. I'll wake you when it's your shift."

"Thanks," she said and strolled away. "Oh, and try to not get us lost, huh?"

"Brat," he mumbled with a grin. She left the peltak and he pounded his head on the console. _Damn. Damn, damn, damn._ Not a mid-life crisis, after all.

**_You do love her_**, Selmak commented.

_**Yeah.**_

_**Then that was the reason for your appalling conduct before her marriage.**_

_**Yeah … what was with that? I thought you snakes could stop hosts getting drunk.**_

**_We can, but we can also choose not to_**, Selmak returned. **_You were so determined to 'drown your sorrows' that I obliged._**

Jacob winced at the memory of that hangover. He didn't think he could ever drink again. **_What am I gonna do, Sel?_**

**_Move on_**, Selmak shot back. **_There are many unattached females and as Sandra pointed out you are an attractive man._**

**_I can't just go and look for a woman!_**, Jacob protested. **_That's so cold-blooded._**

**_As you wish, but do not pass up the chances that come your way_**, his best friend replied. **_You have much to give, and should not be alone._**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Jack stuffed his fists into his pockets as Sandra entered his office. He was still mad at her, and had to resist the urge to hug her. "Sandra," he said quietly.

"Jack," she returned, the curve of her pregnancy now more obvious than when she'd left two months ago.

"I guess the Tok'ra can't tell time, huh?" he said. She blinked, and he clarified: "You were only supposed to be gone two weeks, dammit. It's been two months."

She frowned. "Wow; time sure flies when you're in hell," she said in a worrying monotone.

Her head nodded downward, then Garshaw said, "She needs rest, General, not a resumption of your fight. We have been able to defeat Ba'al at last, but it has exacted a deep emotional toll on her."

His eyes widened. "That son of a bitch … what did he do to her?"

Garshaw put a hand on his cheek. "Be not alarmed, General; by the time Ba'al learned of our true nature, it was too late for him. The Goa'uld died shortly before the host. He was able to thank us before he passed away."

Jack couldn't take it in. Dead? "Too bad I wasn't there to see it," he said.

Garshaw smiled. "Sandra said you would say that," she commented. "She is very tired, and would like to go home. May we have the keys to your truck?"

Jack grunted. "You'd better go see Doc Andrews first," he said. He wasn't a medical man, but he'd learned to recognize exhaustion when he saw it. "You're … she's a month overdue for her checkup."

The blonde head nodded downward, then Sandra said, "Of course, Jack."

He frowned. That docile manner was so unlike her. What the hell had happened to her during the last couple months?

* * *

"Even with your symbiote, you're exhausted," Doctor Andrews said. "The baby has taken most of your reserves. I prescribe at least two weeks' rest." The tall strong woman smiled over at Jack. "General; take your wife home," she added.

"Yes, ma'am," Jack said. He looked up as Jacob Carter entered. "Hey, Jacob," he added.

"Hey, Jack," the older man said. "How you doing there, kiddo?"

Sandra smiled wanly. "Peachy," she said. "Just a bit tired."

Jack didn't miss the look of admiration that Claire Andrews sent to Jacob. "Jacob; this is Claire Andrews, the CMO. Doc; this is Jacob Carter and his snake, Selmak."

A faint pink made its way up the Tok'ra's cheeks. "Good to meet you, Major," he offered.

"You too, sir," Doc Andrews replied, shaking his hand. She directed her attention back to Sandra. "I'll want to see you again in two weeks. And you'd better have put on some weight."

Sandra chuckled slightly. "Yes, mother." She wobbled as she got off the bed.

Jack put his arm around her waist, startled to feel all of her ribs … and her hips were protruding most painfully, too. Had she eaten at all in the last couple months? "Come on, jarhead; let's get you home," he said.

"Okay," she said, still in that unnervingly docile tone.

She remained silent as they left the SGC and he put her into the truck. Most of her sexy curves had melted away, leaving her practically a stick figure with huge sad eyes. He touched her thin cheek with a gentle finger. "So; you managed to kill Ba'al, huh? I bet that was a good feeling."

She didn't respond, but a tear trickled slowly down her cheek.

He clenched his hands around the steering wheel as he pulled away from the complex.

* * *

Sandra blinked back her tears as she saw Jack's rugged, handsome profile. It was so good to be home, but she couldn't look at her husband without recalling how he'd looked after several sessions with Ba'al.

Oh, yeah … who knew the Goa'uld had VCRs? During one of his many banquets, Ba'al had proudly entertained his snake-head guests with footage of his interrogations. Mike Stevens, a Tok'ra female called Anise, many Sandra didn't know, and Jack.

His wry wit and male bravado had been no force against Ba'al's inventive techniques. He'd been a shell of his usual self when he'd pleaded to an unseen entity to make it so he couldn't be revived.

The movie night had occurred about halfway through their stay at Ba'al's fortress. If it hadn't been for the fact that Garshaw was in control the entire time, Sandra wouldn't have eaten again.

She shivered. Damn, it was cold! She saw the snow falling lightly and realized that it was getting close to Christmas. Huh. The last thing she felt like doing was celebrating. What she most wanted to do was pull the covers over her head and not emerge again.

At least they'd managed to off the sorry son of a bitch. One less Goa'uld … but another one would take his place. They were like rabbits.

"We're home, honey," Jack said, reaching over her to unclip her seatbelt.

"Oh … right," she said dully, noticing that he hadn't decorated for Christmas. That was a relief. She got out of the truck, wishing her legs wouldn't wobble so, and reached out a hand to capture a snowflake. So fragile … each one unique and perfect. Then she frowned. It was spattered with a murky black color. Damn it.

Another tear trickled down her cheek. Even the snow was contaminated. Was there nothing pure anymore? She followed Jack into their home and curled up on the couch, hugging her knees to her. "Cold …," she muttered.

"Yeah." He grinned wryly and ran a hand through his gray hair. "I haven't been here much lately." He set a lit taper to the logs in the fireplace, then sat down beside her, drawing her into a warm embrace.

"Jack … I'm sorry," Sandra mumbled into his shoulder. "I'm not up to making love tonight."

He rubbed her arm. "It's just a hug, Sandra," he said gently. "We need to get some meat on your bones before you try to kill me with your wild ways."

She chuckled softly, surprised at herself. God, she loved this man! She touched his cheek. "You know I love you, right?" she said.

He kissed her hand. "And I love you," he said, stroking her hair. "We'll get through this," he added. "That's a promise."

* * *

**Six months later:**

Jack's head shot up as he heard the indignant wail that indicated that his daughter wanted feeding. "Your turn," Sandra mumbled, delivering a sharp jab to his ribs.

"I'm going!" he said, directing a fond smile at his beautiful wife, then heading for one of the other women in his life. Sophie, their beagle puppy, cocked a hopeful eye at him. "Not tonight, you mad hound," he said, heading into the nursery.

"Hey, baby," he greeted the little Sandra replica. Gabrielle Charlotte O'Neill was now five months old – having been born two months premature – and was pretty small, but was rapidly making up for her early start. She had the O'Neill brown eyes, but her mother's delicate features.

He scooped up his little girl, whose shrieks had ended now that she was in her father's arms. "Like mother, like daughter huh?" he teased. Sandra could also get cranky when deprived of hugs and other fun stuff.

She'd scaled back on her work a lot since coming back to Earth just before Christmas. She'd not even had one trip to Bel'nath, and seemed quite happy puttering about in Carter's lab, messing about with her doohickeys.

The telephone rang and Jack cursed. It was two in the fricking a.m.! "I got it," Sandra grumbled.

Thirty seconds later, she came in dragging on a pair of jeans. She went into the gun closet and got her zat and ribbon device. "Sandra?" he asked. How the hell had she gotten the Goa'uld weapons out of the base?

"That was Sam," she said, her gray eyes glowing angrily even without Garshaw being in control. "Shanahan … that lousy SOB … I gotta go."

"I'm coming with you," he said.

"No. Someone has to stay with Gabrielle and, besides, your shoulder's still out of action." She gave him a grim smile, then a hard kiss to his lips. "I won't be long."

"Be careful," Jack said as she hurried out of the house.

* * *

Sandra fitted the ribbon device to her palm, then checked that her zat was fully charged. She got out of the truck and flinched as she could hear furniture crashing and Pete cursing. She banged on the door.

No response. That was a shocker. She tried the door knob. Locked. Her zat took care of that little barrier and she stormed into the house. Pete stumbled into the lobby and glared at her. "Women. All you bitches stick together, don't ya?" he snarled. "She's in love with your precious General."

He was drunk. Sandra blinked as she recalled her last night living with Gabe … She shoved that thought away and glared at the older man. "Get out of this house, and don't ever come back," she advised him softly.

"It's my house," he said. "You take that slut, and maybe I'll have some fun with you. They're screwing the regs and each other – you wanna get revenge?"

"You're pathetic, Shanahan," she said scornfully. She zatted him – just once! – then headed into the living room. A baseball bat headed for her and she caught at it. "Great reflexes, Sam," she said, trying to hide her shock. The woman was emaciated … how had she not seen this earlier? … and her huge blue eyes carried a world of pain.

"Sandra?" Sam said, moving cautiously toward her.

"Yeah, Sam; it's me." Sam might be older than she, but all of a sudden, Sandra felt very protective toward her. "Let's get you packed and out of here."

Sam shivered, looking at the signs of her husband's drunken rampage. "I don't … I don't want everyone to know about this," she said. "Promise me?"

"I promise," Sandra said, knowing exactly the sort of shame that was likely assailing the older woman right now.

* * *

"That lousy, no good bastard," Jack growled, his hand clenching in a fist, then wincing as the move aggravated his shoulder injury. He'd received a staff blast on what was meant to have been a routine off world mission. He'd been lucky to only suffer burns – he could have lost his arm. "I'll kill him."

Sandra put her hand on his as they watched their daughter snuffle in her sleep. "Take it easy, babe," she advised. "Sam doesn't want the world to know," she added in low tones, mindful of the fact that Sam was asleep in the spare bedroom. "So don't be treating her with kid gloves, okay?" She led him into their bedroom.

"I'll try," Jack said, "but nobody hurts one of my team and gets away with it."

"How's your shoulder anyway, fly-boy?" Sandra thought it wise to change the subject.

"Pretty good," he said, lifting his arm slowly above his head. "I couldn't have done that a week ago if you'd paid me!"

She pushed his shirt off his shoulder and examined the wound. It was ugly, but even she could see it was healing well. "I still wish you'd let me use the healing device," she complained, leading him to their bed.

"Not a chance," he said. "I'm not gonna take advantage of having a Tok'ra for my wife. I got careless, let my guard down and was shot. The scar will remind me to be more careful."

Sandra rolled her eyes. Stubborn SOB. "Well, what about an old fashioned Tauri remedy?" she asked.

"Huh?" A frown creased his brow.

She snickered and pressed her lips gently against the wound. "The kiss it all better remedy," she clarified.

He sucked in a startled gulp of air. "Geez …," he muttered. "Well, carry on, Doctor O'Neill."

She continued her ministrations, her hands snaking up and down his body. It had been a few weeks since they'd both felt able to do the wild thing, and she was raring to go. He slid his good arm around her waist, pulling her up close to him, and she raised an eyebrow. Huh … he claimed to be aging, but it seemed he was raring to go, too!

* * *

Sam Carter grunted as she kicked at the punchbag. Doctor Andrews had grounded her until she'd gained at least ten pounds. That meant intensive work-outs and carbo loading. It had been two weeks since she'd left Pete, and she'd only gained three pounds so far.

"Colonel Carter." Her 2IC dipped his head in his usual gesture of respect.

"Hey, Teal'c. What's up?" she said.

"I've come to offer myself as your sparring partner," he said. "I have performed this service for O'Neill, Daniel Jackson, Captain O'Neill and Jonas Quinn. I believe that you now need me."

Sam's eyebrows shot up as she surveyed her huge friend. She did not need him that way!, she cautioned herself hastily. Sure; she'd been curious – after all, the guy was built better than most gods – but that was all. She blew her fringe out of her eyes. "Sure; thanks," she said.

He took off his tee shirt, seemingly unaware that the half dozen female personnel in the gym were mentally blessing whatever deity they believed in. He put on his gloves, then bowed slightly to her. "Let us begin," he said, then grunted as she got him in a headlock.

* * *

Sandra strolled out of the lab, sick of staring at the weird Tollan gizmo. It was hard to backward-engineer something when you didn't even know what it was meant to do.

She swung round a corner, debating the merits of a fresh pot of coffee, and crashed into Major Lewinski, the 2IC from her time on SG-3. "Whoa … sorry, sir!" she exclaimed, noting that he'd been promoted to Lieutenant Colonel.

"Lieutenant … Captain," he greeted her. "Are you still with SG-1?"

Sandra grinned. He'd transferred to the Pentagon shortly after she'd joined SG-1, and this was his first day back. He'd evidently not had a chance to catch up on all the gossip. "I left SG-1 a while ago, sir," she said. "I don't serve on the front lines anymore."

"That's a shame," the Marine said. "You're a damn good soldier – can you really be happy stuck in a lab?"

"I'll admit I do miss going off world," Sandra said, "but I've got a child to think about now."

"Well, if you change your mind, I need a 2IC for SG-3," Lewinski said. "I hope you've kept up your combat rating?"

Her years with the Tok'ra had built up her strength and reflexes, and she sparred daily with Teal'c so that she wouldn't lose her edge. Thanks to him, she'd learned many handy tricks for defeating a much larger opponent. "I have," she said. "Can I think about it? I'll also have to talk it over with my husband – it's a big risk to have two active duty officers form a family."

"Your husband's in the Corps, too?"

"Air Force," she said mischievously.

"Air Force? You threw yourself away on some fly-boy?" Lewinski covered his eyes and shook his head. "Have you no pride, woman?"

Sandra chuckled – she'd forgotten what a riot the guy could be. "Ah, he's okay," she said. She grinned slightly as Jack strode down the corridor, the shorter-legged Sergeant Harriman having to trot to keep up with him. "General," she said.

"Afternoon, Captain," Jack said. He nodded to Lewinski. "Welcome back to the SGC, Colonel. You getting settled in okay?"

"Yes, sir. The Captain's catching me up with some of her news." Lewinski grinned. "I bet you were less than happy that a Marine hooked up with one of you fly-boys, huh?"

"She's okay, for a jarhead," Jack said, laughter sparkling in his beautiful brown eyes. "Well, I'll leave you to get reacquainted." He strolled off, then turned around. "Oh, Captain?"

"Yes, sir?" she inquired.

"Dinner at Alfredo's tonight? Cassie's agreed to babysit."

"Lovely," Sandra said.

"See you later then, honey."

Since when did he get domestic on base? "Back atcha, babe," Sandra shot back.

The penny dropped for Michael Lewinski, and he groaned. "Oh, shiiiiiiiit," he muttered.

Sandra smothered a giggle at the incredulous look on the Colonel's face. "Are you okay, sir?" she inquired.

"Fine," Lewinski said. "For a dead man."

"You look pretty healthy for a dead man, sir," she pointed out unkindly.

Suddenly, Colonel Carter shot out of the gym. "Medical personnel to the gym!" she hollered into the intercom.

"Sam; what happened?" Sandra asked, catching her friend's arm and feeling pleased at the strength she found there. She was making a good recovery.

"Teal'c and I were fighting … I lost control," Sam said. "I forgot he didn't have the symbiote anymore."

Sandra and Lewinski went into the gym and saw Teal'c rising carefully. Blood spurted from his mouth and nose, while a nasty cut had closed his right eye. From his shallow breaths, it seemed he'd also cracked a rib or two. Sandra went straight to the injured Jaffa and took out her healing device. "Be still, Teal'c," she ordered, closing her eyes and activating the device.

Within seconds, the Goa'uld device had done the trick, and Teal'c dipped his head to her. "Thank you, Captain O'Neill," he said. He eyed his CO. "You fight extremely well, Colonel Carter," he added. "I have known this for many years, but was not prepared for some of your maneuvers. You must show them to me some time."

As Teal'c and Sam left the gym, Sandra became aware of Lewinski's open-jawed stare. "How can you work that thing? Don't you have to have naqahdah in your blood?"

A reminder to her that not all her colleagues from the Marines were jarheads. "That's right, sir," she said. "I think you'd better get up to date on my file before you offer me the 2IC spot."

* * *

**Two weeks later:**

"SG-3; you have a go," Jack ordered from the control room. He watched as Lewinski and Sandra – his new 2IC – stepped through the wormhole, then sighed slightly.

Since the war with the System Lords had gone on the back burner, he'd found himself benched. The brass had had things to say about Generals participating in off world missions – none of them pleasant. So, there he was, watching as the teams headed out for pastures new. He felt … old, dammit, and wondered anew why he'd allowed them to kick him upstairs.

SG-1 was also off world, so he couldn't even bother his old team-mates. Carter had been cleared for active duty only two days ago, and had lost no time in looking for a new world to explore.

Suddenly the 'gate cranked into action and the SFs flooded into the embarkation room. "Any ID on this clown?" Jack asked Walter.

Walter was used to Jack's flippant command style by now, and didn't even blink. "Sir; it's SG-3," he said. "Their IDC."

"Open the iris," Jack said, his heart landing in his boots. As the most combat-oriented unit of the Stargate Project, SG-3 ranked next to SG-1 in terms of hours spent in the Infirmary. After all, SG-1 had Daniel – Jack's favorite archeologist had a gift for finding trouble.

The wormhole gushed into the 'gate room, then the Marines stormed back onto the ramp, Lewinski and Sandra looking furious. Jack heaved a sigh of relief, then activated the mike. "What the hell happened, Colonel?"

"Long story, General," Lewinski said. "We'll explain in the debriefing."

* * *

"As soon as we stepped out of the 'gate, the Captain began shaking, then fell," Lewinski said. "Seems this planet is protected by the Asgard, and they have several anti-Goa'uld devices there."

"I'm not a Goa'uld!" Sandra said furiously. "But the devices don't recognize the difference since essentially we are the same species. Anyway, between the screaming and prayers to various deities" – she uttered that word scornfully – "we realized we weren't exactly welcome."

"You mean you weren't," one of the Marines pointed out.

Sandra glared at her subordinate. "Do you have a problem with me being a Tok'ra?" she asked quietly.

Jack thumped his fist onto the table. "Enough!" he barked. "This is a briefing – not Jerry Springer." Had he been this much of a pain in the ass for Hammond?

Sandra and the Marine had the grace to look abashed. "Sorry, sir," she mumbled. "I think they might let another team visit, but I'm certainly persona non grata as far as they're concerned." She sighed and put her hand to her head.

"Are you all right, Captain?" Lewinski asked.

Her hand landed back in her lap. "Peachy, sir," she said, her jaw clenching. "That device was a bit like Thor's Hammer – that thing you found on Cimmeria years ago, General," she added. "There's probably hundreds of 'em throughout Asgard-protected space – guess I'm lucky not to have run into any before now."

Damn right. Jack remembered how agonizing that Hammer thing had been for Teal'c – a big powerful Jaffa – and wondered how his comparatively fragile wife had withstood it. "They don't seem particularly friendly," he said. "I'm not keen on sending anyone back there – we can't be sure how they'll react."

"You could say that about every planet the SG teams have ever visited," Sandra said. "Yeah, it's a risk, but usually the rewards outweigh the risks."

Sometimes. Jack couldn't help reflecting on how many of SG-1's teams had gone FUBAR. They'd barely made it by the skin of their teeth on some occasions. He brought his mind back to the briefing. "I'm classifying J2Y 931 as off limits," he said. "Does anyone have anything to add?"

"No, sir," Lewinski said crisply.

"Good. Then dismissed." As the Marines left the briefing room, Jack added, "A word, Colonel?"

The younger man turned back to him. "Yes, General?"

"You appear to have a problem between Captain O'Neill and Corporal …"

"Wilkinson, sir," Lewinski supplied. He grimaced slightly. "I've always been uncomfortable with the Tok'ra, but Wilkinson's taking that discomfort to extremes."

Jack realized the man felt uncomfortable with the fact that he was talking about his CO's wife. "I'm not trying to interfere with your team, Colonel," he said. "But the Tok'ra are our allies – we can't let bigotry get in the way of that."

"Yes, sir," Lewinski said. A faint grin appeared on his face. "I trust Captain O'Neill implicitly – she can handle a jarhead like Wilkinson. He's a good soldier – he's just young."

* * *

Sandra and her subordinates left the briefing room silently. As they went past a disused office, she made her decision and hauled Wilkinson in. "Okay, Wilkinson," she said, "you've got a problem with me. Spit it out."

Wilkinson stood ramrod-straight. "There's no problem, Captain," he said.

Sandra sighed. "Let's forget ranks – this is completely off the record. You have a problem with me and Garshaw?"

"Uh … Captain … I've lost friends to the Goa'ulds," he said. "And you've got one in your head. I … don't … want you watching my six in a fight." The words seemed to come out a little easier. "What's to stop the snake taking control and selling us out?" he added.

"I can't explain to you the bond between Garshaw and I," Sandra said. "But I had similar views before my blending. On my first mission with SG-3, we were captured by one of the Goa'uld and he tortured one of my team-mates to death." She swallowed, recalling the vivid spectacle from Ba'al's last party. "All I can tell you is that Garshaw hates the Goa'uld enough to sustain through two thousand years and two dozen hosts."

"Pretty words, Captain, but words aren't enough," Wilkinson replied. "I don't trust you."

"Well, one of us has to go, and it isn't going to be me," Sandra said. "It's a shame, though, Corporal. You're a good soldier – you've brought a lot to the team."

He put his arms behind his back. "Thank you, sir," he said. "Formally request transfer off SG-3."

"I'll speak with Major Harris on SG-8; he needs another Marine," Sandra said, cursing silently. Her blending with Garshaw was one of the best things that had ever happened to her. Why couldn't people accept that?

Wilkinson relaxed slightly. "Thank you, sir," he said. "It's not you personally – you're a great Marine who kicks butt. It's … the snake."

"Her name is Garshaw," Sandra said, suppressing the urge to let Garshaw take control. That was the last thing they needed right now.

* * *

Jack left his office and headed over to the gym. While no-one could call Sandra predictable – hell, she ran rings around him most of the time! – when she was mad, she tended to head for the gym to pound at the punchbag.

Yeah; there she was. Dressed in shorts and black tank top, her face was scarlet as she delivered a vicious left hook to the punchbag. He went over to her and grasped the bag mid-swing. "Rough day, kiddo?" he asked.

She blinked at him, then pushed a hand through her hair. "Yeah," she said, her breath coming in sharp bursts. "Wilkinson's asked for transfer – he doesn't trust Garshaw not to hijack my body and turn on all of us." She kicked at the bag. "What's wrong with us?" she added. "Why do we automatically fear anything different?"

He aimed a lopsided grin at her. "I'm not a philosopher, babe," he said. "I put things like that under the category of _Life blows – deal with it_."

She chuckled and sagged against the bag. "I've approved his transfer to SG-8," she said. "Colonel Lewinski supported my actions." She looked over at the clock and smiled. "Hey; it's eighteen hundred hours," she added. "What say we go home and visit with our daughter?"

He smiled at his beautiful mini Marine. "Good idea," he said, patting her shoulder. "Hit the showers, Captain!"

She saluted him with a cheeky grin, having emerged from her funk. "Care to join me, General?" she asked, tugging at the chain of his dog tags.

He slapped her rear lightly. "It's a tempting notion," he said – boy, was it tempting! – "but I'm not sure we could both fit in there."

She looked around, then hooked her fingers into the waistband of his BDUs. "C'mon, fly-boy," she said, leading him to the showers. "You know you've been curious."

No-one at the SGC could understand why Brigadier General Jack O'Neill left the gym an hour later with a huge grin on his face.

* * *

Sandra chuckled at the grin on her husband's face – it doubtless matched her own. It had been a while since they'd cut loose like that, but they'd enjoyed it as much as ever.

She looked over at him as he stretched out his long limbs in the passenger seat. Maybe she was biased, but he just seemed to get more and more gorgeous as he got older. And he'd certainly proven that age was only a state of mind during their energetic session in the SGC shower.

She smiled and turned left out of the Cheyenne complex, heading up to the top of a nearby hill. He opened an eye. "Whatcha doin'?" he asked.

"I was just thinking …"

"Bit dangerous for a Marine, that," he interrupted. "Aren't you worried your head'll explode?"

She slapped his jeans-clad thigh. "Behave," she instructed him. "Anyway, it occurred to me that I've never made out in a truck."

He grinned wickedly at her, his hand sliding under her tee shirt. "I can't believe we've neglected such an important part of your development Captain O'Neill," he said.

She sucked in a startled breath as his hand brushed over her ribs – that was one of her most ticklish spots. "I know, and we have to fix it," she agreed.

She pulled to a halt at the top of the mountain and took in the clear night sky. "It's beautiful out there," she said. "Hard to believe so much shit goes down every day."

"Yeah," he said, dropping an arm around her shoulders. "I came up here during the last eclipse. It was amazing. All you could see were the coronal mass emissions."

His beautiful brown eyes glowed as his hands waved, and she smiled. He might claim to have no interest in astrophysics, but he knew better than to deny his passion for astronomy. He had a huge honking 3,000 dollar telescope on his roof, for crying out loud! And it wasn't for peeking at his neighbors – not just for that, anyway, he'd once said innocently.

She snuggled into him and kissed the delicious hollow at the base of his throat. "Did I remember to tell you how much I love you, Jack O'Neill?" she said. "Because I do."

He chuckled and squeezed her waist. "I love you too, Sandra O'Neill," he returned.

* * *

Private Sheila Rogers of the US Marine Corps was pissed. Seriously pissed. Three nights in a row, she'd pulled guard duty at the top of this damn complex! David, her main squeeze, had been less than impressed at her ditching him yet again, and they'd had a huge argument.

Her application to serve on one of the SG teams was still stuck on the CO's desk. Damn those Air Force fly-boys, anyway – hot shots thought they were all of that.

And to put the capper on a truly crappy week, she was coming down with a cold. All in all, Sheila Rogers was not a happy camper.

"Night, Rogers!" one of the Marines hollered cheerfully, swaggering over to his car, his arm draped around yet another nameless blonde.

"Bite me, Lowenstein," she muttered. She paced back and forth as sundry Marines and Air Force personnel left the base, then scowled as she saw a big black truck head up to the top of the mountain.

Damn kids – always trying to sneak up there. It had been a popular make-out point when she'd been in high school, and the fact that it was now under 24-7 security didn't seem to have dampened the allure.

She gripped her revolver and headed up to the top of the mountain, and the truck – which was now rocking slightly. Crap; was everyone getting some tonight but her?

She banged on the window. "Hey, you kids; this is a restricted area!"

"Shit," a male voice groaned – a rather mature male voice. He sounded … frustrated. _Well, join the club, pal!_ The window was rolled down and a guy with untidy silver hair glared at her. Next to him, a lovely blonde woman covered her mouth in a vain attempt to hide her laughter.

"Geez!" Rogers said. "Aren't you a bit old for this, dude?"

"You're never too old," the blonde said, "and we have full clearance for Cheyenne Mountain. Return to your duties, Marine."

Rogers wasn't about to back down. "I want some IDs," she said.

The blonde and the silver-haired guy grinned … evilly, Rogers might have said. "Shall we, Captain?" the guy said.

"Absolutely, General," she said.

Rogers' skin blanched. A Captain … and a General? This so was not her week! Your IDs?" she reminded them.

They passed over SGC photo ID's, and Rogers glanced at them. _Oh, shit._ Captain Sandra O'Neill, 2IC of the Marine unit SG-3. _Double shit._ And her husband; Brigadier General Jack O'Neill, USAF and CO of the whole damn Stargate project. "Uh, sorry, sirs," she said, passing the ID's back to them. "We get a lot of stupid kids trying to break in."

Captain O'Neill squinted at her. "Private … Rogers, isn't it?" she said.

Rogers drew herself up straight. "Yes, sir; USMC-92736414, sir!"

"At ease, Rogers," the Captain said. "I wanted to speak to you tomorrow – now may as well do. There's an opening on SG-3 for a ground pounder and you seem to fit the bill. Would you be interested?"

Rogers blinked. Maybe this night wouldn't turn out so badly, after all! "Yes, sir!" she said.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Sandra dashed along the corridor. "Hold the elevator!" she yelled at the two SFs. She slipped through the closing doors. "Thanks," she gasped, pushing the button for Level 27.

"You're welcome, Major," the younger of the two SFs replied. "Going to the party tonight?"

"Yeah, sure," Sandra replied, twitching at the new oak leaf on her lapel. She'd been promoted a couple weeks earlier after a particularly nasty battle against Camulus, one of a new crop of System Lords. They'd started coming out of the woodwork after Anubis' defeat four years ago.

She smiled slightly. "Yeah; I'm pretty sure General O'Neill expects me there," she said now.

"You're Sandra Ryan!" the younger SF said. "The one who became Tok'ra?"

"That's me," Sandra agreed cheerfully, ignoring the fact that it had been a long time since she'd been called Ryan. "What are your names?"

"Ma'am?" the older SF asked.

"That was not a difficult question," Sandra teased.

"No," the SF said, "but you're a Major and we're ground pounders." He shrugged. "I'm Mack and this is Kendrick. We're floaters."

Sandra smiled sympathetically – floaters tended to get the crappiest jobs. "It gets better," she said. "Take my word for that." The elevator stopped at Level 9 and her husband got in, a lazy grin on his face. Even after six years of marriage, he could still make her heart pound with that look. "General," she said.

"Major," he replied. "Looking forward to your party?"

"Can't wait," she said sarcastically. Bureaucratic cocktail parties were not her style, but he'd suffered through one when he was promoted to Major General a year ago. It was her turn now, he'd said when she'd protested.

Laughter danced in his gorgeous brown eyes. "Don't lie to me, Major," he taunted. "You know the penalty for lying to a superior officer." His eyes sent the message _Babe_.

_Bite me_, she sent back.

The grin only broadened. "Well, this is my stop," Jack said, stuffing his fists into his pockets. "Nineteen hundred hours, Major – be there."

"Why, you …". The doors shut. _Geez, you suck, O'Neill_, she mourned.

"Aren't you two married?" Mack said.

Sandra smiled gently. "Six years," she said. "Between you, me and the elevator, I'd rather be digging latrines in a Goa'uld fortress than go to this party. But this is an occasion – Jack and I want to celebrate."

"You really love each other, don't you, ma'am?" Kendrick asked.

Sandra felt her smile broaden as she thought of her favorite fly-boy. Mischievous, irreverent, sarcastic, he could drive her up the wall in two seconds flat. But he was also tender, sweet, caring and romantic. And damn if he still couldn't make her hot – as this morning's encounter had demonstrated most assuredly. "We do," she said. "He's the best thing that ever happened to me."

* * *

"Y'know; I like General O'Neill," Kendrick said after Major O'Neill had dashed off to the lab.

"Me too; he's a good guy," Mack returned. "Some of those Air Force guys wouldn't give you the time of day, but he's okay."

"Yeah. Now him and the Major; that's true love," Kendrick offered. "I was here a couple years ago when that Trust guy stabbed her and tried to get her symbiote. Any other guy would've got us to chase him, but O'Neill went after him and put him down so hard, the guy didn't wake up for three days."

"I heard he was dead once."

Kendrick blinked. "Well, nobody's perfect. But suddenly I understand him a helluva lot better."

"How's that?"

"I'd sure as hell come back from a stasis pod if I had that smile waiting for me."

"Yeah." Mack sighed. "It was like sunshine coming out after the storm."

Kendrick elbowed his friend as he stared wistfully after the curvy form of the Major. "Come on, man – time for lunch," he said.

* * *

The age-old question – what to wear. Sandra stood in front of the closet as Jack sang happily in the shower. **_What d'you think, Garshaw?_**, she asked.

**_Choosing clothing is a little outside my purview_**, Garshaw replied. **_However, I believe that that black dress suits you well._** Sandra could hear the mischief in her best friend's tone. **_Jack's eyes will fall out of his head when he sees you in that._**

Sold. Sandra chuckled and took the new dress off the hanger, laying it on the bed as she began a frantic search for stockings. A straight strapless sheath made of satin, it hugged her curves in a very flattering manner. She'd been concerned at first that it was too sexy, but Sam and Claire had talked her round.

Doctor Claire Andrews had married Jacob Carter a couple years earlier, and now lived on Bel'nath with the Tok'ra. However, they'd both come to Earth for the party.

Sam was still single after her traumatic divorce from Pete Shanahan, and seemed happy to remain that way. But Sandra was convinced that there was something between her and Leyr'ak. She and the handsome Jaffa had met a couple of months ago, and hadn't exactly hit it off. In fact, they'd spent most of the mission hollering at each other. But, nevertheless …

The sound from the shower ceased and Jack appeared clad only in a towel and a smirk. His thick silver hair was its usual mess and she chuckled. Major General Jack O'Neill … If only his subordinates could see him now.

Not that she wasn't enjoying the view.

He hummed distractedly as he scrubbed at his head. Then turned to her with a scowl. "Ah, hell, jarhead – you've got me singing that crap you listen to!"

Despite her best efforts, the guy refused to consider anything after the 1970's music. She grinned at him. "Don't be such an old fart," she retorted cheerfully, patting his well-muscled chest. _Nice._ Before he could retort, she added, "Gabrielle's school photos arrived in the mail – you want to see them?"

The distraction worked just as expected and the scowl melted away. "Where are they?" he asked eagerly – he and their daughter were devoted to one another. Sandra anticipated problems when Gabrielle got older, but time enough to worry about that later.

"Hall table," she told him.

He clattered out of the bedroom, not even seeming to notice the hopeful glance Sophie gave him. That dog loved her walks. "Oh, for cryin' out loud," Sandra muttered, stuffing her feet into a pair of loafers. She snapped her fingers at the beagle. "Come on, then," she said.

The beagle bounced up, placing a sloppy kiss on Sandra's hand. Sophie the Incredible Bouncing Beagle … Sandra had never seen anything like it. The animal literally bounced up into the air.

She and Sophie headed down the stairs to find Jack staring at his daughter's picture with an incredibly sappy smile. Big bad General. Put him with kids or dogs and he was like the Pied Piper – except he'd never leave a kid behind. Sandra didn't know how he did it, but he'd practically been adopted by the neighborhood kids. "Isn't she gorgeous?" he said. "Just like you."

Ancient jeans, hair in an untidy ponytail, wearing one of Jack's hockey jerseys. "Yeah; I'm a real picture," she said dryly. She clipped the leash to Sophie's collar. "Just taking the mad hound out for a walk," she announced. "Won't be long."

"Sure thing, babe," he replied absently, beaming at the photographs.

* * *

Major General Jack O'Neill almost choked on his drink as his wife sashayed into the conference room. She looked … sexy as hell.

"Jesus," Michael Lewinski muttered. "That body …"

"Lewinski; that's my wife you're drooling over," Jack reminded the younger man in amusement. He didn't mind the looks his gorgeous wife attracted – he was the only one who got to have what she described as hot lovin' with her on a regular basis.

He tugged at his tie; for once glad of the collar of his Class A's. It helped to hide the hickey she'd given him a couple hours earlier. A hickey! He was over 50, for cryin' out loud!

Lewinski went red. "Sorry, sir," he mumbled, completely missing the gleam in his CO's eyes.

Daniel – who was occasionally very perceptive – had warned Jack that Lewinski had something of a crush on his 2IC. _He can look, as long as he doesn't touch_, Jack reflected now.

A flash signified the arrival of his favorite little gray buddy, and some of the visiting Generals started. It was one thing to hear the reports or even to see the video playback – the live version was a completely different can of worms.

"Hello, O'Neill," Thor said.

"Hey, buddy," Jack said with a grin. "How're things on Othalla?"

"The new alliance is proving itself," Thor said. "We require your presence at the next Council session in three of your days."

"Geez; thanks for the notice, Thor," Jack grumbled. Despite his protestations that he was hardly the ambassador type, the brass thought that the SGC's alliance with the Asgard was due to Jack's firm friendship with the Supreme Commander. They'd even once addressed him as 'Ambassador O'Neill', causing his wife to roll around in laughter.

"I apologize for the short notice, but we were delayed by a short battle with Lord Camulus," Thor said.

Ah. Camulus. He wasn't your typical Goa'uld. For starters, he didn't present himself as a god, and he seemed to care nothing for the machinations of the other System Lords. And he fought right alongside his Jaffa; unlike the other snake-heads. Jack could have almost liked the guy if he hadn't been hell bent on wiping out Earth's military resistance.

"Okay; what's on the agenda?" Jack stifled a groan at the thought of more meetings.

Thor got the mischievous glint in his eyes that Jack always enjoyed. "It is a surprise, O'Neill," he said now. "We also require Garshaw's presence," he added. "May I speak with your wife?"

"She's over there," Jack said, indicating his favorite jarhead, who was chatting easily with Claire and Jacob Carter. He wasn't a match maker, but he was inclined to take the credit for those two. "You sticking around for the party?" he asked. "I'd like some of the brass to meet you."

Thor looked … wary. He and Jack had known each other for a long time. They had a similar sense of humor, as well as an irreverent streak. "There are no politicians, I trust?" he inquired.

Jack put on his best wounded look. "Thor; would I do that to you?"

Thor didn't miss a beat. "Absolutely," he said.

* * *

Sandra sipped her diet soda and debated the merits of kicking her husband's butt from here to Othalla. Geez; she'd rather go hand-to-hand with one of Camulus' Jaffa than stand here making polite conversation with various four star Generals.

She saw Daniel Jackson enter with a heavily pregnant Cassie. She and Daniel had married a couple years ago, and were expecting twins in less than a month. "Excuse me, sir," she said now, heading for the bespectacled archeologist. "Hey, Daniel, Cassie," she said. "Thank God you showed up! General Waters wouldn't shut up."

"Trevanian Waters?" Laughter danced in Daniel's bright blue eyes. "Worst toupee in history?"

Sandra giggled. "That's him," she said.

"This must be an occasion if old throw-rug is here," Cassie contributed, sitting down with a sigh. "Oh, that's better!" she said. "You look gorgeous, Sandra; I feel like a life raft in comparison."

Sandra eyed her younger friend. She was pretty huge, but Sandra knew better than to point that out to her. She recalled how bloated she'd felt in her last month with Gabrielle – and she'd been born two months premature. "It'll be over soon enough," she said comfortingly, then smiled as she saw her favorite Asgard come over to her. He didn't even seem to notice the stares from the assorted big-wigs.

"Sandra; hello," he said. "Congratulations on your promotion."

"Thanks." She grinned, then bent her head and brushed a kiss over the little guy's cheek. "I'm glad you could make it; schmoozing with the brass isn't my idea of a good time."

Thor tilted his head like an inquisitive canine. "On that we can agree," he said. "There is to be an Alliance Council meeting on Othalla in three of your days. Will Garshaw be able to attend?"

Sandra closed her eyes, and felt her best friend take control. "Of course, Supreme Commander," Garshaw said now. "The Tok'ra value this alliance highly."

"As do the Free Jaffa," Leyr'ak said, appearing with a flash – he'd evidently been onboard the Asgard ship currently in orbit. "Tek matté, Garshaw," he added.

"Tek ma'tek," Garshaw returned.

* * *

Bureaucratic cocktail parties sucked.

"Oh, crap," Sam Carter muttered as the Free Jaffa appeared near Thor. She could have done without seeing him tonight – he was such an arrogant ass. Forcing a pleasant smile to her face, she crossed the room to the burly Jaffa. "Leyr'ak," she said.

"Colonel," he returned, dipping his head slightly. He looked her up and down quite blatantly. "I have not seen you look like a female before," he offered. "It is surprising."

"Big news, Leyr'ak; I am a woman," Carter snapped. "Just because I can kick your butt doesn't make me any less female."

A gleam appeared in his mobile dark eyes, and a broad grin appeared, showing off amazing dimples. _Whoa …_, she thought, amazed; _when did he get so beautiful?_ "Be at peace, Colonel," he said. "I intended no insult. You are indeed a beautiful female – you need no artifice."

She blinked. Was he coming on to her? She couldn't tell. Since her divorce, she'd steered clear of the singles scene, believing she was better off alone. "Uh, thanks," she muttered, feeling like an awkward teenager once again. She really sucked at handling personal compliments.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Daniel uttered with a grin, "just kiss her, Leyr'ak. You know you want to." The guy could not handle alcohol.

Sam went bright red. She was going to kill him. "Eat shit and die, Daniel," she said sweetly, pleased to see the grin fall away. She smiled awkwardly at the Jaffa. "Sorry about that," she said. "He's drunk."

"He is correct, Samantha," Leyr'ak said.

_Huh?_ "Say what?" she asked less than intelligently. She was thrown by his use of her first name.

"He is correct," the Jaffa reiterated. He put his hands to her face and captured her mouth in a soul-searing kiss.

_Damn_, Sam thought, her arms going around him. Maybe bureaucratic cocktail parties weren't so bad, after all.

* * *

**Three days later:**

"Say what?" Jack stared at his favorite gray alien buddies. "You can't be serious."

His wife elbowed him roughly in the ribs. "We are honored by your request," Garshaw told the members of the Alliance Council. "We must, however, take time to discuss it."

"Of course." Lya inclined her head graciously. "This is a big decision." She left the podium and crossed over to Jack. "I hope you will acquiesce, General O'Neill," she added gently. "You have shown us that the older race do not have all the answers."

She gave him a soft kiss on the cheek and he felt himself go pink. "Hmm!" He cleared his throat self-consciously. "I will consider it," he said to the Council, "and thank you."

Garshaw inclined her head to their allies. "It has been a long trip and my host is tired. With your permission, we will retire."

"Of course," Thor said, regarding Jack and Garshaw with a touch of amusement. "Rest now, and talk to each other."

* * *

Jack chuckled slightly as they left the huge auditorium. "I always knew Lya liked me," he said.

"She's Nox – they like everyone," Sandra pointed out unkindly, smothering a yawn. She really was beat. "Come on, fly-boy; let's hit the hay. We can talk about this when I'm less pooped."

"Yeah; you really look wiped out," Jack agreed. "Good, but wiped out." He put a warm arm around her shoulders. "Are you okay?" he added.

"Yeah," Sandra said around another yawn. A smirk appeared against her will, and she squeezed his waist. "Let's go back to our room, huh? We need to talk."

Her husband looked at the busy city. "These guys really need a taxi service," he said plaintively as dozens of hovercars zipped past them.

Sandra chuckled, then put her fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly. A hovercar pulled up to her. "Pri'tak, selta, norin," she said, getting into the hovercar. "Your cab, fly-boy."

Jack chuckled. "I like your style, Major," he said lightly, then got into the hovercar. His long frame did not fit well into the diminutive craft, and Sandra chuckled as he folded his legs up to his chest. "It's not funny, dammit," he complained.

She tousled his messy silver hair gently. "It really is," she said. She grinned, then addressed the Asgard. "Klin, sora ti."

"Hey!" Jack said. "Who're you calling a long, lanky drink of water?"

Sandra blinked. She occasionally forgot her husband was a helluva lot smarter than he led people to believe. "Busted," she laughed. She put her hand to his cheek. "We'll get there soon enough," she added.

* * *

Jack smiled as his wife yawned while getting ready for bed. He liked watching her. Walking, running, kicking Jaffa butt – it was all good. He looked at her with a mischievous grin – she certainly looked gorgeous in that midnight-blue gown she'd bought when she was feeling particularly unsexy after that ugly business with the Trust.

"What?" Sandra got into bed, then sat up against the pillows.

"Nothing," he said innocently.

She looked at him suspiciously, but didn't press the issue. "Come to bed, Jack," she said. He got in willingly and put his arm around her delicate shoulders. "I really like Lya," she offered. "She's everything you said she was."

"Yeah," he said. "I don't understand her views, but I respect her."

"Sometimes the most warlike people become the most staunch pacifists," she replied. "I have the feeling they pulled back from the brink just in time."

Jack nodded his head – that made sense. He mused on the other Alliance representatives. Lya of the Nox – cute and big-eyed. Muren of the Furlings – cute and big-eyed. Thor – cute and big-eyed. And Sandra – ditto. Then there was him and Leyr'ak – the token tall un-cute ones? "You said you wanted to talk," he reminded his wife.

She snuggled into him and wrapped an arm round his waist – which was still lean thanks to his daily work-outs with Teal'c … and nearly as frequent ones with Sandra. Doctor Saunders had told him at his last medical that he had the heart and lungs of a 30 year old. Not bad for a 50-plus geezer like him. Of course, the shoulder was shot to hell.

"Yeah," she said quietly, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. "There's no gentle way to break this to you, so I'll just say it. You're going to be a dad again."

He felt his face break into the wide dumb grin he'd sported the first time. "Oh, baby … when?" he breathed, putting a hand to her cheek.

"Four months," she replied.

He stared at her. "Are you tellin' me you fought Camulus' Jaffa when you're five months gone?" he demanded, wincing at how high his voice had gotten.

"We weren't expecting the Goa'uld to show up," she reminded him. "But that was a wake-up call for me. Whatever we decide about the Alliance proposal, I'm coming off of active duty. Our children deserve a stable home. I didn't have a mother when I was growing up, and I'm not going down that route with our kids."

He propped himself up on an elbow, and gazed down into her lovely face. Except for the fact that her bust and hips were fuller, her pregnancy didn't really show. "You're amazing," he said, putting his hand to the curve of her abdomen.

She covered his hand with her small ones and sat up to kiss him. "I love you," she said, tugging gently at his bottom lip with her teeth.

He breathed in unsteadily, cupping her face with his hands. "I thought you were tired?" he said.

She smiled lazily. "I am," she admitted, "so we'll go slow."

* * *

**Two weeks later:**

Sam Carter stared at her CO as if he'd grown an extra head. "Sir?" she said.

O'Neill grinned. "Bet you never thought you'd see the day, huh, Carter?" he asked.

_Hardly_, Sam mused. After all, the day he'd met her, he'd said he liked women; he just had a little problem with scientists. In front of his new commanding officer. "Sir; are you sure?" she asked. "This was a man of action, not words.

"I'm sure," he said. "The doc's given my shoulder a year at best before medical discharge. I can do good with the Alliance. Except for Sandra and Leyr'ak, they're not really used to fighting."

Sam felt her pulse rate increase at the memory of the previous night with Leyr'ak. He'd been surprisingly gentle with her, seeming to understand her fears, and she wondered if she was falling for him. "I see, sir," she replied. "Have you informed the Joint Chiefs?"

"Yeah." Her CO grinned. "They were pole-axed by it, but they agreed to let me retire. It's for the best. Sandra wants to step back from battle and spend more time with Gabrielle and the new baby – and I want the same." His soft brown eyes glowed with love. "Maybe Ambassador O'Neill can be a better dad than Major General O'Neill."

"Sir; that's not fair," Sam protested. "Everyone knows how much you and Gabrielle adore each other. You're a wonderful father."

He scuffed the floor with the toe of his boot and went red, much to Sam's hidden delight. "Anyway; they're interviewing for my replacement tomorrow, so I should be outta here within the month."

A month? A month and that's all she wrote? Sam blinked a tear back. "I'll miss you, sir," she said. He and the other members of SG-1 had become very special to her over their decade-plus together.

"I'll miss you too, Sam," O'Neill replied gently. "But I'll come by every now and then – make sure you kids are behaving yourselves." He gave her a lopsided grin. "Bum shoulder aside, I'll kick your butts if you aren't good."

This from the wiseacre Black Ops soldier who'd been the instigator of the good-natured feud between the Air Force and the Marine Corps? The guy who'd spent three hours taking the heating units out of SG-3's MREs? All to keep the troops entertained. Bob Hope had nothing on the General. "You can try, sir," she replied demurely.

* * *

**Three weeks later:**

Brigadier General John Wilkes looked down into the embarkation room, where the Stargate lay dormant. "Amazing," he muttered.

Colonel Samantha Carter smiled at him. "Yes, sir," she said. "Even after all these years, I'm still in awe."

He smiled back at the beautiful blonde officer, wondering what her team was like. After all, it had a civilian and an alien on it. Wilkes knew that the Jaffa were an important ally in the fight against the Goa'uld, but he'd never met any. Even the Marine unit SG-3 had had an alien member until a couple weeks ago.

A tall figure strolled into the control room. "Hey, Carter," the man said. "You showing General Wilkes the ropes?"

"Yes, sir," she said. Wilkes snapped to attention, noting the two stars on the man's lapel. "General Wilkes; I'd like you to meet General O'Neill."

This was Jack O'Neill? Wilkes had taken the opportunity to study the SGC's senior officers' files once he'd accepted command, and thought he'd gotten a handle on the current CO. A list of commendations as long as his arm, Black Ops service, the death of his child and a nasty divorce.

He'd been expecting a guy with a huge chip on his shoulder. He had not expected this lean, relaxed man with the easy grin and lively brown eyes. Although in his 50s, O'Neill was in excellent shape – as one Major Sandra O'Neill could happily testify if asked – and had the bearing of a much younger man.

A small curvy blonde, who was obviously pregnant, strolled in and Wilkes raised his eyebrows. _Nice …_ This base certainly had its share of attractive women. "You must be General Wilkes, sir," she said, coming to attention. "Major Sandra O'Neill, Marine Corps."

O'Neill … any relation? "At ease, Major," Wilkes said. He turned to Colonel Carter. "I believe I'll see the embarkation room next," he added. "I look forward to working with you in the future, Major," he said politely.

She smiled brilliantly at him. "I'm afraid you won't get the chance, sir," she said. "I'm leaving next week for Othalla – the Asgard homeworld."

He blinked. He couldn't imagine a jarhead – even one with the rank of Major – being happy as aide to an Air Force officer. "I see," he said. "Well, if you ever wish to return to active duty, you'll be welcome here."

She grinned. "Maybe one day, General," she said, sliding her arm around General O'Neill's waist. "I've got other priorities at the moment."

This wasn't a strictly military unit – Wilkes understood that – but he hadn't expected this. "Major?" he queried. "That's not appropriate behavior."

"Relax, General," O'Neill said with a twinkle in his eyes. "Besides being a Marine Corps Major and the Tok'ra ambassador to the Alliance, Sandra here is my wife – six years now."

Wilkes hadn't realized O'Neill had married again. "Congratulations, sir," he said faintly. Wait a sec … "You're married to an alien?" He heard the words after he'd said them, and wanted to shoot himself. "Uh … sorry, sir," he added, stiffening his stance. "It just seems odd."

O'Neill just grinned. "You have no idea," he said. "Sandra is host to Garshaw, a pretty important snake."

The Major elbowed him in the ribs. "Be nice, fly-boy," she scolded him. "You gotta admit; this is a pretty freaky set-up." Her head dipped, then her eyes flashed. "It is an honor to meet you, General," she said in an oddly dual tone. "You must pay no heed to Jack – he engages his mouth without his brain. I am Garshaw of Belote, and his favorite snake." She held out a small delicate hand.

He shook it gently, respecting the firmness of the grip. This little girl was tougher than she looked. "I … uh … I've never met an alien before," he said.

"Then this will be a week of 'firsts' for you," the Tok'ra said. "Captain Hailey of SG-1 is married to a Kelownan and Doctor Jackson to a young woman from a planet named Hanka."

"And just wait till you meet Teal'c," O'Neill put in. "There's an experience."

Wilkes had read the Jaffa's file and had been intrigued. He'd fathered the Jaffa rebellion when he'd defied Apophis and allied himself with O'Neill. "I look forward to it," he said now.

The Major's head dipped, then she said with her normal soft Southern accent, "Jack; we'd better go. Time for my sonogram."

O'Neill smiled at the lovely young woman and squeezed her hand. "Right after you, baby," he said. "It was good to meet you, General," he said formally. "Meet me here at 1000 hours tomorrow and I'll begin the handover."

"Yes, sir," Wilkes returned.

O'Neill put an arm round his wife's shoulders and they strolled away. It was obvious they were still very much in love, and Wilkes envied the other General that. His own marriages – three of them – had barely lasted long enough for the ink to dry on the license.

* * *

"So; what do you think of him?" Jack asked Sandra as they waited for Doctor Saunders to finish the sonogram.

Sandra tugged at her ponytail. "I like him," she said. "No bullshit and can handle surprises well. A bit thick-headed at times." She grinned. "Perfect Air Force General, if you ask me."

"Major; have you considered the possibility of a multiple birth?" Doctor Saunders asked before Jack could respond to the slam.

"Uh; let me get this one over with, and I'll get back to you, okay?" Sandra replied lightly.

"No," Saunders said patiently. "I'm picking up two distinct heartbeats."

She manipulated the scanner and Sandra could see two forms. "Twins," she breathed, touching Jack's arm.

"Geez," he said less than eloquently, brushing her cheek with his palm. He wore a big grin. "Geez," he said again.

Sandra rolled her eyes. _Come back, Oscar Wilde – all is forgiven._

"Do twins run in the family?" Saunders asked, putting her equipment away.

"Nope," Jack said. "Sandra?"

"Not as far as I … ah. My mother was a twin," Sandra said. "I never met her sister, so I tend to forget."

Jack put a hand on her stomach. "Will there be problems with the birth, Doc?" he asked.

_Good question_, Sandra mused. Her small frame wasn't exactly built for childbirth – they'd had to do a C-section the last time.

"There may well be," Saunders said. "I would recommend staying on Earth till after the birth. I'm sure the Asgard medicine is much more advanced than ours, but they haven't reproduced in this way for over a thousand years."

* * *

**Four months later:**

Jack O'Neill pulled a face. He hated good-byes – he really sucked at them. "I was kinda hoping we could just slip away," he grumbled to his wife, holding his new son close to his chest.

She performed the same office for his equally new daughter, while their other daughter gave Teal'c a monstrous squeeze. For some reason, the tiny blonde dynamo had formed a strong bond with the big Jaffa. She loved Daniel and Sam, but Teal'c was the only one who could discipline her.

"Not a chance, fly-boy," Sandra said now, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "They love you – look at 'em."

Jack did so. Samantha Carter; blonde, beautiful and freakishly clever. Daniel Jackson; bespectacled, wunderkind and tougher than he looked. Teal'c; alien, friend and brother. Against all odds, he and the disparate trio had formed a tight, highly cohesive unit that had lasted for nearly fifteen years.

"O'Neill … It is customary on Chulak when a warrior retires to sing a lament," Teal'c said.

He raised an eyebrow and Jack chimed in, "Fortunately, we are not on Chulak."

"Indeed," Teal'c said. "You are my friend and my brother – I will miss you … Jack."

Fourteen years it had taken for the Jaffa to call Jack by his first name. He gripped his friend's brawny shoulder with his free hand. "Tek matté, Teal'c," he said.

"Tek ma'tek," Teal'c returned.

"Daniel … you look after that wife of yours," Jack said. "You mess up and I'll kick your ass. In a weird way, I'm your father in law."

Daniel's eyes widened. "That's a disturbing thought," he muttered. "We'll miss you round here – it'll sure be quiet."

Carter was up next. Her large blue eyes shimmered with tears. "General," she said.

"Jack," he reminded her. He'd retired three months ago. "It's okay, Sam – I'll miss you, too." Sandra relieved him of Jake, who was beginning to fuss, and he took the opportunity to give his former 2IC a gentle hug. "I've left a present for you in your lab," he added mischievously. "I think you'll get a kick out of it."

There was a flash and Thor appeared. "Greetings," he said in his customary manner. "Are you ready to leave?"

"Guess so," Jack said. He looked over at Sandra. "You ready, babe?"

"Yeah; as I'll ever be," she said.

"Take care, kids," Ambassador O'Neill said, just before the transporter whisked them away.

* * *

Samantha Carter strolled along the hallways, brushing surreptitiously at a tear. Damn, but she was going to miss him.

"Hey, Sam," Daniel said, shoving his glasses up his nose. "You think they'll be happy?" he asked.

"I hope so," Sam replied. "I never pictured the General as an ambassador, but Thor's willing to put up with a lot." She walked into her lab and spotted a large flat parcel. It bore a note in the General's brash handwriting: 'Carter; saw this when I was packing and thought of you. Take care and be happy – you deserve it.'

She unwrapped the parcel and glanced at it. Her mouth dropped open. Then she cursed. Vividly and in several languages. "That no-good, smart-assed reprobate!" she yelped.

"Sam?" Daniel asked anxiously. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Sam chuckled. Trust the General to get in the last word! "I'm fine, Daniel," she said. "Read this."

He read the item in question, then cursed in Abydonian. Then Chu'lak, Goa'uld and several other alien tongues. "I'll kill him," he said with a laugh. He squeezed her shoulder. "Buy you a coffee? We'll fill Teal'c in and plot our revenge."

"Sounds good," Sam said. "After you, Daniel." She and the archeologist left the lab and she locked the door behind her.

In the empty lab stood a framed piece of paper. A piece of paper that stated: 'Massachusetts Institute of Technology. The status of Doctor of Theoretical Astrophysics granted to Captain John J. O'Neill of the United States Air Force.'


End file.
